Fairy Tail
by Araceil
Summary: When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!". No pairing.
1. Chapter 1

**Fairy Tail**

_**000**_

When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!"

_No pairing._

_**000**_

**Chapter One**

There were inescapable truths in this world.

At eight years of age, Harry had come to understand that simple reality.

The sun would always rise in the East, Uncle Vernon would always have four rashers of bacon for his breakfast, water was wet, Aunt Marge would always hate him, and Dudley would always be an ungrateful little brat. So when his cousin threw one of his birthday presents, a rather small and pretty looking book, at the back of Harry's head, complaining vociferously that it was too hard to understand, it was backwards, there was too much reading, and the characters were freaks and goody-two-shoes, Harry didn't take it personally and just removed the offending book from his cousin's sight and went back to his chores.

It was only later that evening when he was bedding down for the night in his cupboard that he found the book again, where he had hastily thrown it into his cupboard to stop his cousin from throwing it at him again, or screeching that he'd stolen it to get him in trouble with his parents. Curious, Harry had settled down in his cupboard, the light still on, and started to read.

The first page read "STOP – YOU'RE READING IN THE WRONG DIRECTION!" it then went on to explain that in English, writing was from left to write and then down. In Japanese, it was from right to left and then down. Harry hummed, a little bewildered, but flipped to the back of the book anyway and opened it up.

He stumbled a little on the names, his eyes widening as he read the word his Aunt and Uncle had forbidden. He was surprised they'd let Dudley keep this if it had THAT word in it. He wasn't even allowed any computer games that had the m-word in them. And Aunt Petunia had never read any bed-time stories that had the m-word in it. Glancing warily at his cupboard door, Harry adjusted his blankets to hide the book from first glance, just in case Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia suddenly yanked the door open.

He smiled as he read about Natsu getting train sick and silently marvelled over his talking cat, Happy. Happy must have been very smart, smarter than Mrs Figg's cats who were all really, really smart. Smarter than cats should have normally been, but Harry didn't bring that up, if he did, Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would have someone else take care of him, someone nasty. So he didn't mention that Mrs Figg's cats weren't normal. Instead, Harry kept reading. Practically devouring the pages with fascination, Lucy meeting the Salamander, and then Natsu.

"Must be nice," he whispered, fingers tracing the page where Lucy explained about the Guilds to Natsu. "_An association of mages, and it will mediate jobs and other information to mages. Mages won't be considered full-fledged until they work for a guild. There are many Guilds all over the world, and it's pretty hard to get into the Guilds that are popular. Many great mages will gather at the one I want to get into..._" he whispered, reading from the page. "I bet no one calls them freaks, or takes away their food, or hits them," he murmured softly, imagining Uncle Vernon trying to cuff Natsu around the back of the head and getting electrocuted or something. Maybe set on fire. Or turned into a newt.

He giggled a little.

"Boy! What are you still doing awake?" Uncle Vernon's voice snarled through the wood of his cupboard door. Harry squeaked and found himself hastily hiding the book behind his back and sliding it under his pillow so that if Uncle Vernon dragged him out he wouldn't accidentally find it. "Stop wasting our hard-earned electricity, you ungrateful freak!" the man snarled, hammering on the door.

"Y-yes, Uncle Vernon, I'm sorry!" Harry squeaked, quickly reaching up and turning the light off.

Thankfully, Uncle Vernon seemed to be more tired than angry, and let Harry away with just that. Huffing and heaving himself away and up the stairs to bed. Harry swallowed and stayed silent and still in his cupboard. When the noises from upstairs stopped, he hesitantly reached up to the light-switch again before thinking better of it.

"I'll finish it tomorrow at school in the library," he muttered. There was no chance of Dudley following him in there and finding that he'd taken the book. Shuffling around a little, he wrapped a piece of paper over the book's cover and then stowed it away in his book-bag along with his completed homework and his pencils. He then snuggled down to sleep.

_**000**_

"_Oh leave them be. If we didn't have idiots like that, this world wouldn't be fun._"

Harry grinned, his toes wriggling in his plimsolls as he finished reading the first chapter of the book in the library, curled up at the back between the bookshelves, the office, and the radiator. Because he'd been caught with the light on, Aunt Petunia had refused to give him lunch today, so he decided to spend the whole lunch-break in the library instead. Getting punched in the stomach by Dudley when he hadn't eaten hurt a lot. Plus, he wanted to finish reading his book.

It was technically the summer holidays, but Saint Georges' offered a summer programme for struggling students and while Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon normally would never allow anyone to get the impression Dudley was struggling in school, the teachers had worded their arguments very carefully and in such a manner they could not argue with. Not to mention it offered specialist workshops that Dudley had stamped his foot and screamed, and whined, and thrown the mother of all tantrums in order to attend. So he was signed up for the summer-programme, and as Harry's results were poorer than his, he was signed up as well – but with none of the workshops, he was expected to work on his school subjects and nothing else. The thing was, the teachers left him alone, for the most part. Mrs Hedge explained when he asked why by pointing out that they weren't blind. They all thought he was some kind of genius who was bored to tears with the current lessons and could only be bothered to do the bare minimum. But since he wasn't being destructive with that boredum, they left him to his own devices because they simply could not cater to an advanced student who refused to show just how advanced they were. They pretty much all assumed he was using Dudley as a measuring stick for the average child and refusing to do better than him because of it. Which, they weren't wrong, but he was no genius. If he was, he wouldn't still be with the Dursleys, he wouldn't be hungry all the time, he wouldn't be scared of his own cousin.

He wished he could be like Natsu, and be able to beat up anyone who messed with him. Or brave like Lucy who even though she was scared still went back to help those people on the ship. Even Happy was pretty cool, and he was _very_ jealous of his ability to fly. Greedily, he kept reading, the next chapter was happening _inside_ Fairy Tail! There was bound to be more mages and awesome abilities and magics.

He ignored the assessing gaze of the Librarian as she went about putting away several of the story books on the shelves beside him.

"_Forget about the Council Members. Listen up. The power to overcome reasoning is born from reasoning. Magic is not a miracle. When the 'spirit' flow within us and the 'spirit' flow in nature connects, they will form an embodiment for the first time. You will need a strong mentality and a lot of concentration for that. I mean, pouring all of your soul into whatever you do is the magic. If you keep worrying about the watchful eyes of the higher-ups, your magic won't improve. Do not fear the fools of the Council._

_DO WHATEVER YOU THINK IS RIGHT! THAT'S THE WAY OF THE FAIRY TAIL MAGES!_"

"Harry, lunch-break is ending, it's time to head back to class," the Librarian called. As he was the only one in the room there was no one else to tell so the young boy hastily stowed his comic book away and got to his feet, rushing out of the library. The Librarian watched him go and opened up a new order form on the school computers, getting back to work.

_**000**_

After school, he had to fulfil his chore list at home, but it was difficult when his brain kept travelling back to his bookbag in his cupboard, wanting dearly to do back to his comic book.

What Master Makarov had told him was... it stuck in his head. More than Harry thought it should have.

He remembered moments in the past when he had panicked, been scared, or been angry, and unusual things had happened. Like turning Mrs Hardwood's wig blue. He felt bad afterwards, she only had the wig because of her chemotherapy, but just because she was achy and tired wasn't a good reason to be so mean to him, especially about his mum. Then there was when Dudley was trying to beat him up and he ended up on the roof because he was scared. And then when he got angry at Mr Morgan the PE teacher for giving him detention for rough-housing with Dudley even though it was plain to everyone watching that Dudley was choking him and the only reason Harry was hitting him was to try and get him off. All the lights in the Assembly Hall exploded and the TV in the corner did as well. Dudley started screaming about how Harry was responsible only to get a very stern dressing down from Mr Morgan about lying and being stupid. Given how it had been storming outside, everyone just assumed that the School's Surge Breaker didn't work and lightning caused an overload in the hall where the lightning rod was.

Harry hadn't been punished for that, mainly because Dudley had grudgingly accepted the lightning bolt excuse. It was cooler to tell his parents that the lightning storm outside made the hall explode than to say his cousin got angry and made it happen. And he didn't want to look stupid after Mr Morgan had humiliated him in front of the whole class.

Harry wasn't stupid. He knew that he was responsible for those things, even for when that horridly ugly jumper of Dudley's shrank while Aunt Petunia was trying to force it over his head. He also knew she thought it was pretty hideous too, hence why she hadn't punished him for shrinking it (It had been one of Aunt Marge's Christmas presents to her Neffy-poo). But still...

It was pretty obvious that he could do magic. Not the same magic as they did in Fairy Tail. But magic all the same.

And his Aunt and Uncle hated it.

Hated it and by extension him. So... why were Master Makarov's words still swimming in his head?

Was he worrying too much about Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to work on improving his magic? Well to be honest, he had never given thought to his freakishness being anything other than being a freak until he read the book. But suddenly, now that magic was on the table, it wasn't freakish. It was special. It was a gift.

And he couldn't be the only person in the world to have that power.

There must be more people with magic.

Maybe... maybe even a Guild like Fairy Tail?

He shivered a little in anxiousness as he sped through washing the chicken for dinner that evening.

_**000**_

That night he finished reading the book. He sighed as he stowed the precious little book in one of his shoe boxes, shifting some homework sheets on top of it for extra safety. He wanted the next book. Lucy and Natsu had just gone off on another job together to deal with Duke Everlue who was a pervert and liked blonde maids. Lucy even had a new friends, Plue, the Celestial Spirit of Canis Minor Nicolas. He wondered if the Celestial Keys were real, he would have liked to be able to summon a friend to play with.

Harry sighed as he rolled over in his bed, reaching up to extinguish the light.

As jealous as he was, magic though he may have had, this was the real world. Things like that just didn't happen. And while it was nice to believe... tomorrow he would still be shouted at, have his ear clipped, be forced to make food he was never allowed to eat, and dodge his cousin in the playground.

He didn't know how to use his magic. And without someone to teach him... It didn't look like he ever would.

_**000**_

Over the next week he read the first Fairy Tail book another three times. He nearly got caught by Dudley once, but after that he took care to only read it in his cupboard after Dudley had gone to sleep. He even foraged for a little flash-light and some batteries so he could read without having his light on – thus letting Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia know he was still awake past his bedtime, and get told off for wasting electricity.

It was on Monday when he came into the Library, sans lunch after Dudley stole from the pantry and blamed him on Sunday, that Miss Jane the Librarian whom he had become rather friendly with over the week he had been hiding in there approached him.

"Morning Harry," she greeted with a smile.

"Hi, Miss Jane," he greeted as he put his book-bag away on the shelves and took out his notebook and his pencils. He had taken to trying to copy the drawings in Fairy Tail, he'd done a few drawings, he wasn't very proud of them because they weren't very good. But there was one of Natsu that he really liked. And Master Makarov that looked pretty good.

Miss Jane grinned at him, "I've got a little surprise for you, Harry." He looked up at her suspiciously.

Only for his eyes to widen as she produced a book from behind her back.

'_Fairy Tail volume 2_'

"Ha-bu-really?!" he squeaked in shock and excitement as she held it out to him, his hands shaking a little as he reached up hesitantly to take it, half expecting her to snatch it back and laugh at him.

"Heehee, I really like Fairy Tail too," she explained as she crouched down in front of him and held it out a little more insistently until he took it from her. "I've got the whole series and I like to read it on the internet too. When I saw you with the first book last week, I was a little surprised. It's not exactly for kids, y'know. But you seemed to really love it. So here. I planned on selling it at the next Expo but at least I know you'll appreciate it for what its worth," she explained as he lovingly caressed the cover. "I'll bring the others with me tomorrow."

"Th-Thank you, Miss Jane," Harry stuttered out before quickly rushing off to his corner and cracking the book open.

Jane giggled, just knowing how much he loved the gift was gratitude enough.

_**000**_

For his ninth birthday Harry got two more of the Fairy Tail books, a special Fairy Tail notebook, the Guild symbol on a necklace and one of the Celestial Keys. The key for Leo, the lion, who was his star-sign as he was born in July. Harry had broken down crying in the library when Miss Jane gave them to him and she spent most of the break trying to console him until she realised his tears were happy – because no one had given him any presents before.

She'd written a note to his teacher and sent it along, telling him that he didn't have to return to class for the afternoon if he would rather stay in her office and read. He had nodded because he didn't want to go back. Instead, he put his necklace on, he tucked Leo's key into his pocket, and settled down with his books. He knew that he was behind, very behind. The books usually came out once every two months so he had a lot of catching up to do. Volume sixteen was due to come out in August and he wanted to buy it with his own money, but first he had to catch up and then get some jobs around the neighbourhood done.

He grinned and gripped his Leo key, he could pretend he was doing Guild jobs, he decided with a snicker.

_**000**_

He thought about handing out fliers, Miss Jane even said she would help and print them out, but he ran into another snag then because how could people contact him to say they wanted him to do a job? He couldn't tell them to call the Dursleys because then they would find out and take all the money he earned, or make him give it to Dudley. They were assholes like that.

So he went from door to door. Every day. Asking if they had any chores they needed doing for pocket money.

Mrs Figg had him do her gardening, as with her hips and back it was too painful for her to bend down and do it all. He got friendly with her cats while he did so and she was even happy enough to pay him £20 for the first weekend of work where he had done the most. She told him that the pay for regular upkeep would be less, because he would be doing less if he made it a regular occurrence. Which was no problem to him.

Seeing the state of the batty old woman's garden after he was done with it had several of her neighbours offering him some yard work which he happily accepted.

Mrs Baker asked him to walk her dogs while her son was unwell, a pair of cheerful chocolate labradors who took unholy glee in running through every source of water they could find at the various green-strips Harry took them to. He'd always wash them in Mrs Baker's backgarden with the hose, and towel them off before letting them back into the house, something that usually got him an extra handful of pound coins.

Mr Gibbs got him to wash his car. Harry had never done anything like it before so asked him to supervise to make sure he didn't damage it. Mr Gibbs was mightily impressed with that kind of responsibility and happily set himself up in the front garden while Harry got to work, deck-chair, book, radio, drinks. The two of them got talking and it was actually very enjoyable as Harry worked, the two of them chatting back and forth, falling quiet when their favourite songs came onto the radio.

All in all, by the time the latest issue of Fairy Tail came out, Harry could have bought it five times over. Instead, he bought two, and made the second one a present to Miss Jane as he didn't know when her birthday was. Harry grinned at the hug she gave him as a thank you and settled himself in his corner to read Volume 12, positively beaming when he saw her immediately set aside her paperwork and start reading it. He hadn't yet caught up, but he had all the books now, hidden away in his cupboard under the floorboards and in shoe boxes and under his mattress.

He couldn't help but love Erza. She was probably his favourite character. She had great powers, but it was her personality that drew him, how even after everything she stayed strong and hopeful, determined to protect her friends. He knew it was silly. But he kind of pictured her as what his mum had been like when she was alive. He knew Lily Potter had red hair, and he knew she was pretty, and he also knew she was a freak like him. But if she was someone his Aunt hated so much, then she must have been an amazing woman. Kind, courageous, beautiful. And she must have had magic too. It didn't hurt that he identified easiest with her. Her childhood of slavery and abuse at the hands of the Zeref cult, while a lot worse than his years at Privet Drive, proved that he wasn't doomed to forever remain the little boy hidden away in the cupboard nursing his bruises and his aching belly. He cried like a faucet at her funeral scene, and then cried some more in sheer happiness when Natsu pulled her out of the eatherion. It was stupid, he knew, but... when he put himself in Natsu's position, in Erza's position, the tears... they just wouldn't stop. His throat felt like there was something thick and hard clogging it, and his eyes burned hard. He decided then and there that even though Erza was a girl, she was going to be his role-model. Because he couldn't think of anyone he looked up to more than her, even if she wasn't real.

But he didn't have any swords or armour to use, and there was no way he could find any. He tried to concentrate on doing similar things to Erza's Requip magic, he got hold of one of Aunt Petunia's kitchen knives and put it in a shoebox in his cupboard, he then concentrated on trying to make it appear in his hand.

It took over a month of solid work, headaches, muscle cramps, and a strange almost bone-deep exhaustion if he tried for too long, but one day, he closed his eyes and pictured the knife he wanted, pictured it in the box, and then in his hand. He pictured it appearing. Everything from the burst of smoke, the sheen of the blade, that tiny speck of rust on the blade next to the handle, the small chip in the blade where Dudley got hold of it and smashed it into the table in destructive curiosity, the plastic of the handle, the comfort of the rubber grips in his hand, even the chill of it as it warmed in his hand from his body heat. He focused on all of these things repeatedly until – with a pop, it appeared in his hand.

It felt like a soap-bubble popping in his head and as his hand closed on the handle of the knife, he realised he was dripping with sweat, panting out of breath, and sore as if he'd been sat in the cold outside for too long. But... he stared at the knife in his hand, accomplishment and pride surging up inside of him. He'd done it. And just to be certain, he checked the shoebox. No knife. He'd made it appear in his hand with his own magic.

It wasn't _quite_ Requip, as it was supposed to store and remove things from a pocket dimension so it didn't matter where you were you didn't have to carry anything with you, you could just command the magic and it would appear and disappear from and to that pocket dimension. Miss Jane laughed as she explained that a lot of Fairy Tail fans mistakenly believed that Erza carried all of her armours with her in her ridiculously huge baggage pile, but it was confirmed by the writer that those bags were in fact full of food and camping gear.

Harry quickly put Aunt Petunia's kitchen knife back in the kitchen before she could notice it was missing and then started to practice with a set of Uncle Vernon's hand-me-down socks. He tried to make them vanish into a pocket dimension and then reappear on his feet. Getting them into the pocket dimension took another month of focused practice and thought and meditation, but he found that he could concentrate for longer on doing it before he got a headache. He managed to make the socks vanish from his feet one morning before school and very nearly fainted. Aunt Petunia took one look at his ashen sweaty face when he got up to make breakfast that morning and sent him back to his cupboard after forcing a cup of tea down his neck, she declared she wasn't willing to risk him infecting her precious Diddy-dumplings with whatever illness he had by forcing him to make breakfast. She then wrote a note up for the school excusing him for the day.

Harry spent the day in the cupboard just sleeping, though he woke up feeling much better by Lunch. And a cunning plan took root in his head. He practised getting the socks to reappear on his feet for the rest of the evening and even long into the night. He slept briefly and then woke up again early to do the same. He must have looked ghastly when he came out of the cupboard because Aunt Petunia actually forced some medicine on him along with another cup of tea, this time actually sweetened with honey, and put him back in the cupboard and ushered Dudley off with another note.

Harry got the socks to appear that evening and had to stifle his gleeful laughter with his hands as he wriggled his toes in the hideous mustard colour garments. He imagined them gone and about an hour later, they vanished. He imagined them reappearing and half an hour later they were back. He'd done it. He'd managed to learn the Requip magic! Now all he had to do was practise until he could do it as well as Erza!

He'd never have to worry about Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia taking his Fairy Tail books off him!

He didn't care if he exhausted himself that night, he managed to get all of his precious books into the pocket dimension and managed to shorten his recall time to a few seconds.

He didn't wake up the next morning when Aunt Petunia hammered on his cupboard door. He slept right through until lunchtime and woke up feeling terrible but elated beyond comparison. His good mood was so much, that even Aunt Petunia noticed and demanded to know what he found so nice, so he lied. He said that he was glad she didn't hate him enough to not care when he got sick. Aunt Petunia looked like he had just slapped her and went chalk white. She forced a cheese sandwich into his clammy hands and told him to get back into his cupboard.

He went without complaint and settled down on his pile of clothes and bedding to eat it, summoning Volume 14 to hand as he chewed on his food. It was a good day he decided, positively beaming as he read through the Fighting Festival Arc where Laxus had his nakama square off against one another. He was a massive asshole, Harry decided, but his powers were pretty cool. And given how he could already mess with electricity, his powers would probably be the easiest for him to master – not to mention as a Dragon Slayer if he ate electricity he could recover. He just needed to chew on a few of the electrical cables around the house. Harry need never go hungry again! All he had to do was chew on a few cables, and even if the Dursleys noticed the damage, he could just blame it on mice, or rats.

Plus, the scar on his forehead was a lightning bolt. That had to count for something. Fate, maybe?

_**000**_

**And that concludes Chapter one. XDDD I'd been scouring the HPFT section looking for stories but... Nothing really caught me eye. It was all, FT!person goes to Hogwarts, or Super!Harry joins FT. There was only one story where the books were just books, and that was a Fairy Tail world. And I'm always a sucker for Harry finding manga and learning the abilities in them – you see it a lot in the NarutoHP section. The fact there weren't any in the HPFT section was weird. And then the bunny was born.**

**Currently, it is August 2009 in the story (I upped Harry's birthday up by a full 20 years so it's more in keeping with popculture and current events). Fairy Tail has just released Volume 16 which has the end of the Laxus arc, and the start of the Oracion Seis arc where Wendy is introduced. Harry's currently reading volume 14-15.**

I chose his magic by rolling a D20 thirty times and choosing the one that got the highest rate as his primary. That ended up being the Lightning Dragon Slayer – though Sky Dragon Slayer came very close, as did Makarov's Titan magic.

Erza's Requip I felt would appeal to him **most** but due to lack of weapons and armour not be his primary when he first started out. It would be an essential skill to keep foods, books, and those other things he wasn't allowed though. Don't worry, he'll definitely become more proficient with it in future, but for now, aside from storing and removing things, he'll be focusing on Lightning DS Magic.

**Review guys, I want to hear opinions! Those of you on my facebook know what the future holds (to a degree), but I still like to hear everyone else's thoughts. XDDD**


	2. Chapter 2

**Fairy Tail**

_**000**_

When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!"

_No pairing._

_**000**_

**Chapter Two**

Chewing the electrical mains was not his smartest decision ever.

It was even stupider to do it a second, third, fourth, and fifth time.

But if he was going to try and learn Dragon Slayer Magic, Harry figured a little stupid bullheaded reckless determination was needed. So no matter how much it felt like his teeth were melting, or however many times he pissed on himself as his body felt like it caught on fire with electricity. He kept going back. Kept forcing himself to attach his mouth onto the wires and suck. Grit his teeth on the metal and swallow back his screams as he tried to force his body to adapt.

His mouth blistered.

His teeth burnt and cracked.

His gums and tongue charcoaled.

But he did it.

He forced his magic to obey his will, and he _ate_ the electricity within the cables, he digested it – with difficulty, it _burned_, it made him horribly, horribly sick. But it also healed him to a degree. The electrical burns on his mouth vanished, his teeth became healthy, his gums and tongue went back to normal. It took a week to recover. Aunt Petunia avoided him, merely shoving a bottle of water and a sandwich into his cupboard every eight hours. Apparently she didn't want to give him the impression she cared. Still, he was thankful she didn't pry, because he couldn't hide the small arcs of electricity that danced across his skin at times and it took about that length of time for his injuries to go away.

There was just... one problem.

"They got sharper," Harry whimpered, eyeing his mouth in the mirror, poking at his still sensitive teeth, in particular, the unusually lengthened canines he now had. If his Aunt saw them... hell, if Uncle Vernon saw them, he could expect them to produce a pair of pliers and try to rip them out! His blood chilled fearfully. He would have to make certain not to talk too much, or open his mouth wide when eating, or when he did talk. He had also better get good at using his lightning just in case they did see and try to pull them out.

Summer was over, as was the school programme, which meant he was back to regular school and everyone else involved. The library was no longer a solitary retreat, and he no longer had Miss Jane to himself when he was in there, though she always made a point of smiling and waving at him when he came in, even if she was busy with someone else. He kept doing his jobs around the neighbourhood, only he tried to work in some mage training in the process.

Doing the gardening, he worked on electrocuting the weeds to kill them, it was faster and more affective than just pulling them out. When he walked the dogs, he would play tug of war, and race them. Washing the cars, he would lift and carry as many heavy things as possible and do various stretches while he worked. At the playpark, he tried doing chin-ups on the monkey bars, sit ups too. He tried to jump and run along the railings, jumping to the benches and the tables and then back to the climbing frame and then try to run along that. He fell a lot, and scraped himself raw.

He also got the October release of Fairy Tail, Volume 17, and then the December release, Volume 18.

By the time December had rolled around, Harry had managed to gain some wiry muscle on his malnourished pre-teen frame. He could run faster, carry more things, do more magic, than he used to be able to. Now he had all of his clothes hidden in the pocket dimension along with a few that he had bought himself using money he'd earned around the neighbourhood – they fit him what's more! Sure they may have been a little... odd, but he didn't care.

The only thing was, he didn't know how to fight. While it sounded like a silly thing for a Mage to know, the characters in Fairy Tail had proven time and time again that being able to fight with your magic was more effective than straight up magical attacks. Because what if someone could nullify your magic? Or it wasn't effective? The problem was, he would never be accepted into any of the local martial arts lessons because at his age he needed parental consent. And he didn't want to go around starting fights or getting into them just to learn. It was stupid, and he didn't like the idea of looking for trouble. Or being a bully. And he couldn't fight Dudley because that would just make things...

Harry paused in his thinking, frowning.

Yes, he didn't want to be a bully. But... should he really sit back and let other people be bullies? He frowned, what the fuck did he care if Dudley got his fat ass handed to him and went crying to his parents? If Uncle Vernon tried to hit him, Harry could just zap him. In fact... Harry could just leave. He earned enough money doing jobs in the local area that if he wanted to move out and live in a box, he could still comfortably support himself. There was a laundrette down the road, he could keep his clothes clean, and with his Requip magic he didn't have to worry about keeping all of his belongings with him and getting them stolen. With his jobs he didn't have to worry about food either. And he knew that if he asked Mrs Figg would let him sleep over or use her shower if it was raining or cold.

Heck, he could save up and get a tent, live on the green behind the bushes.

So what did he care if he and Dudley got into a fight? He would win it. And if Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia took issue with it, he could just leave. They would never _dare_ report it to the police because then there would be questions, and the neighbours would want to know what was going on. They wouldn't risk it. Especially if Harry told them why and what happened in that house. They would be able to check the cupboard, they would question Dudley and there was no way that lump would be able to lie. He thought it was funny to tell his friends about how his family treated his cousin, Harry was just surprised none of the adults had overheard and taken exception to it.

Erza, Kana, Natsu, and Grey had all been taking care of themselves since they were younger than him. And Mirajane had been caring for her two younger siblings at the same time.

He could manage it. But he would save up and get that tent first. Just in case.

_**000**_

His time came sooner than he expected as Dudley and his gang cornered him after school later the next day.

It started as usual, but instead of running immediately, Harry stood his ground and turned to face Dudley, Piers, Morgan, and Malcolm. Clearly, they hadn't been expecting it and weren't entirely sure how to handle the strange change. Their hesitation didn't last long as they got over their surprise, it was just freaky Potty Potter, with his broken glasses and raggedy second hand clothes and no parents to give a damn about bruises and grazes. Harry let them talk. He was quite aware of the security camera they were stood in front of, and unlike the others he wasn't willing to throw the first punch and get in trouble.

So he waited.

And he was rewarded when Dudley, clearly believing that Harry wouldn't fight back because of what his parents would do, threw the first punch. He rushed forward, fist drawn back and swung for Harry's head.

Harry ducked and spun away, but didn't lash out. No, he was going to wait until all the boys were involved, until they'd all tried to hit him, _then_ lash out. He didn't know fighting, but he was faster than they were, and probably a lot stronger after spending half a year training not only his magic but also his body in whatever ways he could. So he ducked and dodged out of the way as Piers and Morgan went for him.

And then Malcolm jumped in – and met the bottom of Harry's shoe as he spun, ducking his body low and swinging his foot up into the larger boy's face.

Malcolm howled as he hit the ground, grabbing his face and spitting blood as he screeched. Harry had probably knocked a few teeth out with that move, he'd probably get a glorious black eye too.

He whipped around, Piers and Morgan too shocked to move, since when had Potter _ever_ fought back?!

Harry ran forward, grabbing Piers by the face in a move he'd seen Natsu do once, and then flung him at Morgan. Harry didn't have the physical strength to pick him up and fling him, but Piers was just as scrawny as he was and not as physically powerful. It wasn't hard to send him careening into Morgan where the two of them toppled into the road.

Harry then turned to face Dudley.

"Y-You ca-can't! I'll tell Dad!" he shouted, staggering backwards as his cousin walked forward, slowly and steadily.

"Tell him then," Harry told him darkly, "Tell him you were so pathetic that you and three of your mates couldn't take on the freak. Tell him you couldn't win your fight because you were a fucking weakling. Tell him that you were stupid enough to get caught on camera doing it. Tell him that I didn't use my freaky powers and I still kicked your ass. Go on. Tell him, Dudley. Have him fight your battles for you. Hide behind your Daddy while the rest of us stand on our own two feet!" he roared even as his cousin broke and turned, running away as fast as his pudgy legs could carry him, Piers and Morgan following after – leaving Malcolm to sob on the pavement.

He sighed and relaxed his tense muscles. That... hadn't gone too badly actually.

But he had surprise on his side. They wouldn't make that mistake again.

Malcolm was still crying.

Harry sighed and gently began to pull the larger boy to his feet, "The nurse is still in. Let's get you to the office," he told the blond as he escorted him back into the school. Harry knew full well he would get called to the Headmaster's office, but Mr Brogun was pretty decent, he wouldn't get into too much trouble because he'd not only _not_ thrown the first punch, he also hadn't continued the fight when it became obvious that the boys didn't want to tangle with him, and he even brought Malcolm to the nurse's office.

_**000**_

When Harry got home that afternoon, he was pleasantly surprised to note that Dudley _hadn't_ gone squealing to his parents about the fight. Which was very surprising as Dudley never missed a chance to get him into trouble. But then again, Dudley made sure he could never be implicated in that trouble.

Harry doubted it would last long but, well, he would handle it when it came.

Instead, Dudley complained about not liking the food Harry made for dinner – meaning that Uncle Vernon punished him by withholding food once again. Harry huffed. He waited until the Dursleys had gone into the living room to watch TV and then proceeded to chow down on the cables to the fridge/freezer. What did he care if all the food spoiled? He wasn't eating it. Not his problem.

He smirked when he heard the hum of the machine die and went back to doing the washing up, licking his lips. They were still tingling from the electricity.

He would eat some proper food in his cupboard later – he's set aside enough money from jobs to get some breakfast bars and dried meats and hid them in his little pocket dimension. So even if the Dursleys were withholding food, he was never going to go hungry. Not the same way he used to. He just had to keep doing jobs around the neighbourhood.

_**000**_

"You're getting kittens!" Harry exclaimed in excitement.

Mrs Figg laughed and nodded, "Yes, Harry dear." She gestured to a rather plump marmalade tabby lounging peacefully amidst the recently cut grass of her backgarden. With spring warming up the world, Harry's services on the garden front had shot through the roof, "Minerva there is due within two weeks. We're expecting a little of four," she explained to the fascinated young boy who hesitantly reached out to stroke the expectant mother. The tabby purred and butted her head against his fingers, giving him permission to scratch all those delicious places that she knew his clever little fingers could find. "I plan on selling three of them to a friend's pet-shop in London." She then gave Harry a shrewd, yet kind look, "The fourth is yours, if you'd like it. They'll have to stay here, of course, I doubt Petunia would tolerate an animal in the house. But they'll be yours in everything from food, the vets, defleaing," she listed as Harry yanked his hand away from Minerva as if burned.

He turned those devastatingly large green-green eyes onto her, "Y-you really – you would trust me with one of the kittens?" he asked, stunned and a little choked up.

Arabella nodded, "You're a good boy, Harry. Hard working, responsible, and kind. I trust my friend to send the little ones to good homes, but I worry all the same. With you, I _know_ they're going to a good home."

Harry flushed and grinned to himself as he scratched the tabby under the chin.

_**000**_

"_Rairyu no houkou!_"

Lightning sparked between his lips.

But nothing.

Harry collapsed backwards, panting. Why wasn't he getting? He had been practising Lightning Dragon Slayer magic for over three months now! It was April already and he hadn't been able to get off a single combat lightning spell. He'd mastered the eating of electricity and even digesting it to improve his body, he'd even managed a way of making it concentrate to his fingertips in order to make them glow, giving him a source of light – and working pretty nicely for zapping weeds. But aside from his Requip magic, he'd made no progress in any other avenues.

Maybe he just wasn't suited to Dragon Slayer magic?

No. No he couldn't think like that. He just had to keep working. Magic was something you had to put your whole being into. You very soul. There was no giving up. There was only success.

Harry clambered back to his feet, rolling his shoulders thoughtfully as he called up his magic, feeling it tingle across his skin as he gritted his teeth. Maybe he was going about this the wrong way. It always looked like their mouths were bulging before they roared, so maybe he had to make the lightning in his mouth _first_ and _then_ expel it in a Lightning Dragon Roar.

The Dragon's Roar was a gateway magic to the combat Dragon Slayer magics. It's supposed to be the easiest and first magic a Dragon Slayer learns because it is the closest to a dragon's own natural abilities. The act of expelling a 'roar' verbally is a natural ability inherent to most beings, forcefully pushing air and sound from your body. Expelling elemental magic in a similar fashion should be relatively simple. He just needed for form it internally, instead of externally like he had been before.

His teeth were tingling, and he could feel the metallic sting of lightning on his tongue.

"_RAIRYUU NO HOUKOU!_" he screamed, bolts of lightning spitting from between his lips in a wave of yellow light that crackled and arced through the air, scorching the grass and striking the tree opposite him – he hadn't been prepared for what happened next. Hadn't studied enough science to know it was even possible.

The sap in the tree boiled, and exploded.

He had a split second to realise as he flung his hands over his face as the tree exploded, knife-like splinters of wood lashing out in every direction – piercing into his skin with ease.

Harry couldn't stop himself from screaming as he felt them bite into him, hot and painful, as the backlash of the exploding tree flung him clean through a bramble thicket and into a more public part of the park he had chosen to practice in. No one had been there when he settled in to start practising, but they certainly came running down fast enough when they heard the explosion.

Luckily, Harry didn't have to wait very long before the ambulance and the paramedics arrived.

He didn't remember much after that.

They said he passed out from blood loss when he woke.

He'd needed extensive surgery over the last two weeks in order to remove all the wooden shrapnel from his body, and it was hell in a handbasket trying to find them all. They had to remove some that were as long as eight inches from his stomach and thighs, which was where he'd lost the majority of his blood. One had even pierced his stomach so he had to be very careful about what he ate for the next five months – just so to make absolutely certain that his stomach lining hadn't been ruined. Harry had blanched when the nurse explained that his stomach acid could melt his internal organs if it weren't for the special lining in his stomach. That's why Stomach Ulcers are so painful and usually require some special medicine if they're found.

"You're going to have to give us your parents' names, honey," the nurse told him not long after he woke up, "We weren't able to find out who you are, so I'm going to have to take some personal details, is that okay?" she asked. Harry liked her, she was quite pretty and she seemed friendly.

"Okay. My name's Harry James Potter. I'm nine. My birthday is July thirty-first, year two-thousand," he listed and stopped when the nurse laughed and told him he was a millennium baby, just like her sister. "I'm an orphan though, I know my mum's name was Lily. Her maiden name was Evans, and she married my Dad, Mr Potter. I'm sorry, I don't know his first name. I live at..." he paused then, making the nurse tilt her head in askance. "A-actually, could you contact someone else for me? My old babysitter. Mrs Arabella Figg, she lives at number five, Magnolia Crescent, Surrey. She'll be really worried about me, I was supposed to come over and do her gardening for her last week!"

The nurse stared at him for a moment before nodding and smiling, she didn't question why he would rather his old babysitter be contacted instead of his guardians, just accepted it and told him she would do her best to get in touch with her before explaining how to work the bed and the nurse-call button. Telling him sternly that he was not to get up until the Doctor came and checked the stitches on his legs. If he needed the toilet, there was a bottle specially designed for boys to use when they were bed-ridden in the cupboard on his left. The cleaners would handle it, they were trained for it, so he shouldn't be embarrassed about it.

Harry flushed uncertainly but thanked her as she turned the TV on for him before leaving.

He sighed, relaxing back on the pillows in a mixture of emotion. Elation because he'd managed to perform the Rairyuu no Houkou. Confusion that he'd made a _tree_ explode – he thought lightning just split them! They weren't exactly electricity conductive! And annoyance that he'd gotten hurt in doing so. There was also a little fear. The NHS didn't charge for hospital fees, but that didn't change the fact that the Dursleys would try to suggest that he was costing them money by being in there and try and force him into more menial labour and less meals in order to pay them back for being such a burden onto them. Which was why he'd requested the nurse contact Mrs Figg instead. She would be able to handle everything, she would inform the school, probably the Dursleys, she'd also handle the hospital staff, and hopefully she would also take him home so he could actually recover properly without having to worry about the mouldy gone-off food he was forced to eat damaging his stomach further.

He Requipped one of the Fairy Tail volumes to hand and settled in to read. He was going to be there for a while.

_**000**_

Minerva had her kittens while he was in the hospital, and, like he'd hoped, Mrs Figg took him home once he was well again – though he had to be carted around in a wheelchair. A few more weeks he would downgrade to crutches and then the stitches would come out, after that, he could return the crutches and carry on with his life.

Still, with the kittens, he had something to look forward to when he got to Mrs Figg's. He also had to deal with her foul tasting herbal teas that she'd gotten specifically for his stomach, she said that they were designed to heal damage to internal organs, and he had to admit, after drinking them, he didn't feel quite so delicate in the stomach area as before.

As predicted, there was a litter of four, three boys and a girl of varying colours.

Harry tilted his head as they tumbled and tottered over his legs, "Why do they all look so different?" he asked curiously as Minerva picked up a brown, black and white patterned tabby, one of the more boisterous boys, and pinned him down for a thorough cleaning, ignoring his mewling wails of protest.

Arabella coughed a little, "Well," she began, "Ahhh, have you had – no you haven't. Oh my, uhm," she trailed off flustered as Harry craned his head up to blink at her from behind his glasses. "Well, I suppose you're at that age. Tell me, Harry, do you know where babies come from? Human babies?" Mrs Figg asked kindly as she sat herself down on one of her old-floral patterned sofas. Harry shook his head, making her sigh a little shakily. "Well, it's probably about high time you know. You see..."

Harry learned all about puberty, and sex, and pregnancy that evening. And then had cat sex explained to him in detail as well, so he would know why the kittens looked different – they all had a different father from each other because cats had multiple sexual partners during their mating season. He could have done without knowing that male cats had _barbs_ on their penises though.

He decided then he was having the girl kitten.

He named her Carla, as she was pure white anyway.

_**000**_

Returning to the Dursleys happened without fanfare. Uncle Vernon sneered at him a bit for making a nuisance of himself on an elderly woman, trying to guilt him, luckily he didn't even attempt to outright lie and tell him that they'd been forced to pay for his medical fees. Dudley tried to pick another fight – this time trying to kick or punch his stomach, Harry kicked him in the face and left him to wail in the playground while he went to lean how to do hand-stands and cartwheels from the girls.

The boys may have laughed at him, but they definitely stopped when he started turning those cartwheels one handed, then no handed, and then turning them into flips, forward and backward. When his handstands became onehanded, then hopping from hand to hand, and then doing hand-stand push ups.

What Harry had no idea was that because of his periodic starvation, there wasn't a spare ounce of fat on his body, and the musculature he had managed to build up with the months of manual labour was now plainly visible. No one was willing to laugh at a kid who had a six pack starkly engraved into his body.

Though he did have to put up with a few of the girls deciding he had to play Kiss Chase with him.

_**000**_

School broke up for the summer a month after Harry got off his crutches (crutches he rarely used because he didn't _need_ them), but he was signed up for the summer programme again anyway because Dudley had continued to do so piss-poorly on his tests that the school were beginning to think he needed to be put in the Special Needs class where he could get better Supported Learning. Harry was signed up again as well and spent the entire time in the library with Miss Jane, the two of them chatting about Fairy Tail and magic.

Harry brought out his special Fairy Tail notebook to show her his ideas about how the magic could be formed and controlled. Miss Jane knew a lot more about biology and physics than him and was able to add a lot to his theories – also explaining how that tree exploded when he used Lightning Roar on it.

With Miss Jane's help, he studied lightning, electricity, storms, currents, and even air-pressure systems and metal conductivity.

Harry also got to spend more time with Carla whom he was convinced was no where near an ordinary cat, she actually _understood_ human speech. Harry often spent hours with her after doing the gardening for Mrs Figg reading to her from the Fairy Tail books, letting her see the pictures and telling her all about Happy and the cat that was her namesake Carla. And their abilities to fly, their magic called Aera.

He stroked the tiny white kitten, "It'd be cool if you could fly and talk like the Exceed," he told her with a grin as he rubbed her bell-shaped ears. "Ahh, but if wishes were coin, poor men would never go hungry..." He lifted the kitten up and nuzzled her, "It doesn't matter, I like you as you are, Carla."

It would still be cool though.

_**000**_

**Okay, announcement time: **_I am going to try and be strict on updates for this. Sunday will be the update day. Only Sunday. I'll try and make it weekly! But Sunday will be the day!_

**Also, the thing about the exploding tree, it does happen when lightning strikes.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Fairy Tail**

_**000**_

When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!"

_No pairing._

_**000**_

**Chapter Three**

Harry's tenth birthday saw both him and Miss Jane in the library once again, but with a bit of a difference.

He had a cake shaped like the Fairy Tail insignia, Miss Jane was dressed up like Erza, armour and wig and all, he had some presents from other members of staff who were busy with other students so couldn't make it, and she'd even wheeled in the TV and set up a few of the comfy chairs from the teacher's lounge in front of it.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" the currently red headed Librarian cheered as his book-bag dropped limply to the ground in sheer shock.

"Ah, you – Wow!" he exclaimed, eyes practically sparkling as he took in the armour and the wig.

Miss Jane wasn't very old, she looked about in her early twenties, she wasn't fat, but she was no where near as thin as Aunt Petunia. She was pretty too, with dark caramel coloured skin, and thick curly black hair, and friendly chocolate coloured eyes. Right now, her curly hair was pinned away and hidden under a synthetic scarlet wig, she wore an above the knee blue pleated skirt, knee-high black boots, and silver armour that was made of latex and moulded to look like Erza Scarlet's. She even had the gloves though they were made of latex too.

She grinned at him and gave a twirl, "Looks good, huh?" she asked with a broad grin as he nodded rapidly. "Well," she declared, grabbing a plastic bag from one of the tables, "Yours'll look even better! Go change! I'll help you with the wig if you can't manage it," she told him enthusiastically.

Confused, Harry let himself get ushered to the office at the back and opened the plastic bag once Miss Jane had retreated with a giggle. He blinked and stared. "No way," he breathed as he up-ended the bag and emptied everything onto the table. "Awesome!"

Ten minutes later and a pint-sized Natsu with black hair stepped out of the office, Miss Jane _actually_ squealed when she saw him.

"You look _adorable_!" she exclaimed rushing over. "C'mon, let's get that wig on!" she told him enthusiastically as she grabbed a brush and the wig box. Harry grinned and sat facing away from her so she could work. He watched in the reflection of the office window as she brushed his hair back and then pulled a skin coloured wig-cap over his black hair, tucking it all up inside before pulling on the short haired pink wig and fastening the two clips down so it wouldn't slip. She then pulled out a pot of gel and began to brush and style the wig with deft, practised motions. It didn't look perfect, but it was pretty damn close.

"There!" she declared, stepping back and reaching for the packet of baby-wipes she usually kept beside her computer to clean her hands, as children were known for breaking the rules and bringing sweets into the library. Sticky fingers and sticky tables were a nightmare for books and a librarian's greatest enemy.

Harry nearly ruined her hand work by touching the still slick strands and staring at himself in the office windows as she dug out some transfer temporary tattoos of the Fairy Tail insignias and applied Natsu's red one to his shoulder – Erza's blue already on her arm. The sound of a digital camera jarred him out of his staring a few minutes later though as he whipped around and gaped at the older girl who was grinning at him, camera in hand. She laughed at him before setting the camera down, "You look amazing Harry. But there's just one thing missing," she declared before handing him one of the wrapped presents on the table.

Harry eyed it, and then her, suspiciously before tearing away the paper and staring.

About a foot tall, with wings and all, a soft toy Happy slid out from the papers and into his hands.

"No Natsu can ever be without a Happy, right?"

Harry sniffled and nodded, "Right. Thank you. Thank you so much," he whispered and flung his arms around her waist, hugging her tightly.

"Thanks not needed," she told him, rubbing his back with a smile. He looked up at her and she smiled down at him. He didn't care then that her skin colour wasn't the same, or that her nose wasn't the proper shape, or that she had spots on her chin that her make-up didn't quite hide. She smiled at him and he could only grin because that smile was Erza's.

_**000**_

That day had been the best of Harry's life to date. They watched the Fairy Tail cartoon on the big TV, Miss Jane telling him that she'd gotten the proper Japanese versions and put subtitles on them because the English one didn't sound right. She put candles on his cake and sang him Happy Birthday when he blew them out. She took loads of pictures of him in his costume and he did the same for her, the two of them gigglingly roping one of the passing by teachers into taking a few pictures of them both together.

Harry tore into his other presents, getting a new stationary set from different teachers, chocolates and other sweets, and he got Leo's Regulus ring as well.

It was too much.

"Harry?" Miss Jane asked, tilting her head, "What's wrong, sweetheart? Do you not feel good?" she asked, reaching out to him.

Harry shifted backwards and her hand dropped, a little hurt.

"I... I have something to show you," he told her hesitantly, "You-you have to promise you won't... you won't hate me, okay?"

"Harry what are you -

"Promise! Please!" he begged, and Miss Jane sat back in her seat, a little lost for words, her face becoming serious.

"Alright Harry. I promise I won't hate you for what you're about to reveal, is that okay?" she swore.

Harry swallowed, his palms sweaty, but... he needed to show her. She needed to know. She'd always been there for him. She gave him all the books, she helped him figure out the magic, she gave him his Guild necklace and his Leo key, she... she had been a better family member than anyone else in his life ever had. Even Mrs Figg who hadn't always been the best but was improving now. He shivered fearfully. He knew his magic was what the Dursleys hated him for but... Miss Jane wouldn't do that. She promised she wouldn't hate him. And she loved Fairy Tail just as much as he did, so it wasn't as if she hated Magic either.

He trusted her.

And Requipped Aunt Petunia's kitchen knife into his hand.

_**000**_

Looking back, he decided he probably shouldn't have told her.

She'd been too shocked to react at first, then asked if it was a trick and how he'd done it. So he explained. He explained how he'd figured it out and then showed her his Lightning magic.

His only mistake was telling her he'd chewed on the electrical mains in order to figure it out. Miss Jane had flown into a panic and rushed over, hugging him tightly and shaking him furiously screaming at him to never, ever do such a thing. At the time he had been scared, but now he knew his fear had been nothing compared to hers. She had been terrified that he'd hurt himself and immediately rushed him to the hospital's A&E department, no ifs and or buts.

They certainly got some funny looks in the waiting room for what they wore but she merely glared them all down, remarkably like the character she was dressed as until a doctor came out to call them in.

Miss Jane hadn't rejected him, he was happy about that.

But she had become so over-protective, he felt a little smothered by her at the same time.

It was hard to do his usual training when she'd somehow managed to give the other school staff members the impression that he was suicidally curious and had no concept of his own personal health risks. He was watched like a hawk at all hours while at school to make sure he didn't do anything like stick his fingers in a plug socket to see what happened. On the brightside, it meant Dudley and his friends didn't risk approaching him. On the downside, it meant he couldn't train on school grounds or Requip a copy of Fairy Tail to read while within eyeshot.

What a pain.

_**000**_

The year passed in much the same way as the previous.

He continued to score worse than Dudley, only having to suffer a few comments from the teachers who eventually gave up when they learned that Dudley would be going to a different Secondary School to Harry when they reached Year 7. They concluded that once the two were in different schools, there would be no reason for Harry to dumb himself down and after that he would pull his finger out.

He continued to do his jobs around the neighbourhood to earn money, even receiving a few belated birthday presents from a few people of Mrs Figg's acquaintance. She 'accidentally' let slip how frustrated she was that his guardians hadn't bothered to organise a birthday party for him. Word never reached the Dursleys about it, but a lot of them were now paying closer attention to the way things were in the house. And they weren't liking what they saw.

Uncle Vernon discovered the damage Harry had done to the wires in the house and bought a large number of various mouse and rat traps. He then checked Harry's cupboard for left over food, declaring that he must have attracted them by pilfering and hoarding food. He'd seen it all the time on TV! But he didn't find so much as a crumb. Harry kept his food in his pocket dimension and even put his trash in there – he would empty it on the way to school in one of the neighbour's wheely bins. This then resulted in Uncle Vernon checking Dudley's room and finding all the stolen food that they'd blamed Harry for taking. Of course Dudley wasn't punished though. Aunt Petunia wailed about how he was a growing boy and they obviously hadn't been feeding him enough.

Harry was fairly sure Dudley blushed in embarrassment when he caught sight of the disbelieving look on Harry's face when his mother made _that_ proclamation.

After all, children were cruel, and Harry had made a point of reinforcing the idea that Dudley's reign of terror as a playground bully was over. Harry made it clear to _everyone_ that bullying would not be tolerated. But when he wasn't there, children could be cruel with their words. And while no one ever struck each other, words could be even more damaging. Dudley was getting rather self-conscious about his weight. Getting compared to his cousin, whom all the girls now thought was dreamy and fit, and totally hunky, and feeling low, so he ate more sweets because what did he care about what girls thought? So his waist line expanded, and the teasing got worse, so he ate more to make himself feel better. It was a pretty vicious cycle.

Harry started having to go further afield to practice his magic as it was getting more powerful, thus destructive. He couldn't practice in the parks anymore otherwise he might accidentally hurt someone, and he didn't want that. The exploded tree had become a favourite horror story amongst the kids and apparently the kid who got caught in the explosion died and now haunted the tree on stormy nights. Harry hadn't been quite certain how to react to that story, especially when he made the mistake of informing people that he was the one who got caught next to it when it exploded – and even showed them the scars to prove it. There was no more ghost stories, but now he kept getting people talking to him for no other reason than to look cool by being friends with the Lightning Boy.

It got more than a little tedious at times.

Still, Harry had mastered the Rairyuu no Houkou. Able to maximise and minimise its effects to a giant wave of lightning that was able to pulverise stone, or mere sparks from the tip of his tongue, enough to light a cigarette but little else. He'd managed to figure out how to generate lightning from every part of his body and even all together, he had problems generating it on his feet, but figured that he wasn't powerful enough to overcome the grounding properties of earth just yet. He could do it, but it took all his concentration, and often destroyed his shoes and the earth beneath his feet. He had opted to forego wearing said shoes long ago, instead, rather enjoying walking around in bare feet, rain, sun, snow, or shine. His feet toughened up quite nicely too. But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon forced him to wear shoes though because he would look like a freak if he didn't, so they compromised and he went around in sandals instead.

He also figured out that if he charged his electricity _inside_ of himself, he could make himself stronger and faster, think faster, and react faster. It also dulled any pain he felt, or if it was small enough, doubled it. Big injuries were dulled, but little ones like papercuts became maddeningly painful. Like putting salt on them by accident.

There had been one awful incident when Aunt Marge visited for a weekend, she brought her foul tempered bulldog Ripper with her too. That had been the closest Harry had ever come to losing his composure and actually attacking a civilian – as he had started calling the non-magical people around him. Dudley got a kick every now and again when he went back to being a bully, Piers ended up with a broken nose once. But never had he ever been tempted to let loose a lightning bolt so much before in his life.

However, Ripper seemed to have noticed a difference him him because the dog growled but maintained a distance. The one time it went for him, they were in the kitchen and Harry had ample time to kick the foul tempered thing in the face and then call up a fistful of lightning. Ripper was just an animal, no where near as smart as his Carla who's meows had begun to take on a semblance of understandable words, but even the stupid mongrel knew when he was beaten and when he was fucking with a much bigger and nastier enemy. He slunk off with his tail between his legs and didn't even twitch in Harry's direction the rest of the weekend there. Harry ended up leaving the house on the final day and going to Mrs Figg's just so he wouldn't have to put up with Aunt Marge.

He was happy to go, Carla had gotten a lot bigger than before and had been forced to ask Mrs Figg to lock her up when her heat-cycles began. She was still just a baby herself, she didn't need to be having kittens yet. But he also didn't want her to _never_ have them, so getting spayed wasn't an option. He wanted her to have kittens, just not now. Not until she was older.

He spent the day with her, exhilarated and excited as her butchered meows started to get more and more like actual words. He read to her as usual, they spoke and played. He brushed her and cleaned her litter tray and refilled her food bowls and changed the water. He spent the night at Mrs Figg's, sleeping on the sofa downstairs with Carla curled up on his chest, the two of them sleeping well into the afternoon the next day much to the home owner's amusement.

Aunt Marge was guaranteed to have left by then so Harry said his goodbyes, fussed Carla a little more as she tried to hook her claws in his trousers to get him to stay, and headed home. He had to clean up after last night's festivities but that was okay. It just meant cleaning the kitchen and the living room, changing the bedding in Aunt Marge's room and doing all the vacuuming and mopping. Aunt Petunia was hungover and hiding in her bedroom until she was certain he had finished disinfecting the house of Ripper's presence. That reminded him, he had to go and clear up the dog shit from the garden. Great.

Once he'd finished he had to immediately make a start on dinner, as it was getting toward that time. Thankfully today was a Bank Holiday so it didn't mean he had to bust out an entire Sunday roast. Instead, he did steak and ale pie with chips and peas. For dessert, apple and blackberry pie with custard or vanilla icecream. And, of course, he wasn't allowed a single crumb. Instead, he set aside a small bowl of peas, the browner and crispier chips that Dudley wouldn't touch, and a few cooked apple slices. That was his dinner that evening as his relatives tucked into his hard work and then left the dishes and crumbs lying around like discarded trash. He wondered how they would manage when he finally felt he'd had enough and just left.

It was tempting to do so right now in all honesty.

But he couldn't take care of Carla on the road, she wasn't a dog, and he knew Miss Jane would worry herself sick and call the police if he didn't show up for school. Plus, Mrs Figg would get worried too. He sighed and stowed his ideas to run away yet again, it wasn't so bad here, it could be a lot worse in all honesty. At least his Uncle was too concerned with getting 'freak' on him to try raising his hand – Harry was literally waiting for that day just so he could reveal how much of a freak he was and how it was only his kindness that kept him from lashing out against them. It might make Vernon think twice about being such a bullying dick-wad.

Life carried on as it always had.

Christmas came and went, he received a tissue from the Dursleys that he wiped his backside with and then incinerated with a burst of lightning when they weren't looking. He got another Fairy Tail notebook from Miss Jane and Mrs Figg got him some cat toys for Carla.

As for Carla, he received a dead mouse from her, and she managed to say Mmmrrowee hissmass. It took a further four hours of getting her to repeat him before she managed to actually _say_ Merry Christmas. That was possibly the best present he got!

Spring brought an uncomfortable reminder of his lack of coat, he did a few extra gardening jobs and managed to save up enough for a nice thick winter coat. He knew it was technically a womens' coat, but the mens' coats weren't as nice, and they didn't have as big of a colour selection. He got himself a nice knee-length berry red winter coat with deep pockets and a detachable hood, it was double lined too so the inside was nice and silky and wouldn't itch if he didn't have a jumper on underneath.

School passed, Miss Jane hovered in worry, trying to impress upon him how some of the things they did in the manga wasn't physically possible and he had to be careful trying to copy them – or he could seriously hurt himself. He had to deal with her teaching him as much as she could find about first aid and how to deal with electrical burns and other kinds of physical injuries and problems. She even gave him her mobile number so that he could call her whenever if he needed to ask if something was dangerous before trying it.

He lied and said he would and pocketed the number, mentally acknowledging that he would likely as not never ever call it for her own peace of mind. When he got to his new school he could practice to his heart's content, no one would pay much attention to him in Stonewall, too busy with their little clique problems and teen dramas. He could always continue his business and start hiring himself out to them as well doing odd jobs. Want me to find this item or that item, sneak off school grounds to get this or that from the shop, do your homework, deal with your bullying problem. A whole number of new business ventures opened up to him in secondary school that he didn't have here with Dudley hovering over his shoulder and reporting back to Vernon and Petunia.

He finished Junior School, watching as students in his class wrote all over their jumpers and shirts, Dudley pretending to be a social butterfly and failing miserably while Harry had to fend off the girls in the class and becoming extremely flustered and uncomfortable with all the attention. Dudley got bitter of course and tried to round up his old cronies for one last shot attempt at putting the Potter freak in his place. Even Piers turned him down and refused to get involved, which lead Dudley to trying to jump Harry on his own in the boy's toilets.

Seeing his cousin's hand suddenly light up with electricity gave him other ideas as he scrambled backwards with a frightened shriek.

They never spoke of it again, and Dudley never tried anything toward his cousin again either. He didn't even attempt to get his mother leave Harry behind in the house or the car when they went to the Zoo for his birthday in the summer. Downside, Vernon caught sight of Harry chatting quite comfortably with one of the boa constrictors at the Reptile House.

He very nearly got the cane for that, instead, with almost herculean effort, Vernon ordered him into the cupboard for a week without meals. Harry went without argument and when the door closed behind him with a click of the dead-bolt going over, he took extraordinary pleasure in requipping a packet of packet of butterscotch baking pieces to hand and sticking a pinch of the sweet confectionery in his mouth.

He had no idea what would await him when his so called 'punishment' ended.

_**000**_

**Note: I've had people asking me to expand Harry's magic use. Throw in multiple different kinds of magic in and make him into some kind of broken super-powered monstrosity. **

**This won't be happening. **

**You rarely see a Fairy Tail mage using more than one kind of magic because, as has been said repeatedly, you dedicate yourself mind, body, and soul to the magic you use. If you want to master it, it is the one you ****specialise**** in. The only mages we've seen using more than one are S-rank mages. Mirajane, Master Makarov, Urtear, Jellal, and a few of the other villains. Harry is no where close to being an S-rank mage. He's having to build this shit from scratch. **

**As for Dragon Slayer magics, yes, he will gain another type-speciality. But only the ONE. Try to remember, it does act as poison when they consume an element that isn't theirs and it takes an insane amount of magical power to use both. And the magic power I'm using for Fairy Tail magic is different from the magic power I'm using for the Harry Potter stuff.**

**Harry will not be learning Archive. He will not be learning Titan magic. Take Over. Celestial Gates. Gravity. Crash. Death Magic. Wind magic. Life Magic. He won't be learning them. His magic has already been decided and set. Requip and Lightning Dragon Slayer – he will get another Slayer type, but that's for me to know and you to find out. **

Next chapter should have the start of the Hogwarts Arc 8DDD


	4. Chapter 4

**Fairy Tail**

_**000**_

When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!"

_No pairing._

_**000**_

**Chapter Four**

The summer holidays had kicked off by the time Harry was allowed out of his cupboard. Dudley had sequestered himself away in his room with his video games and his sweets, unwilling to go outside. Harry overheard Petunia complaining about it, apparently his old gang had turned on him and started mocking him for being so fat. And given how he was already rather sensitive about his weight thanks to the girls in their class making all those scornful remarks and comparing them, having his old friends do the same was even worse.

Harry may not have seen eye to eye with his cousin, and even been actively hostile towards one another, but he did not tolerate bullying.

The day Harry got out of the cupboard was the day Piers, Malcolm, Dennis, and Gordon were reminded of that absolute zero-tolerance.

With the summer-break in full swing, Harry went to work with three-times as much ferocity as before. Carla chasing his heels as the two of them went from one end of Magnolia Drive to the other doing garden work. While he worked, the two chatted, or rather, Carla tried out certain words and Harry corrected her pronunciation. He also taught her new ones by touching and pointing out certain things. So far, no one had caught this seemingly miraculous occurrence of a feline actually learning how to speak, and the more Harry thought about it, the less he wanted it to be known. Someone might try to take Carla away if they knew.

Dudley got his new uniform. Maroon tailcoat, orange knickerbockers, and a flat straw hat called a boater. Harry eyed the knobbly stick that also came with the uniform a little dubiously, he could imagine people using that as a weapon. So, when Petunia and Vernon left, Harry urged his cousin outside in order to show him how to use it.

"Why are you helping me?" the surly blond demanded as Harry tested the stick thoughtfully.

"You know what it's like to be bullied now, don't you?" he asked instead. "You didn't like it, did you? It hurt. And it swims around your head whenever you go to sleep, repeating itself, louder and louder until you want to hurt yourself just to shut it up. Am I right?"

Dudley's silence was telling, especially when he wrapped his arms around himself uncomfortably and turned to glare at the rose-bushes that framed the neat little back garden.

Harry nodded and smiled a little, "You know how much it hurts. So, I can trust you not to hurt others in the same way. Because you know how horrible it is. So, I don't mind showing you how to defend yourself."

Dudley scoffed, "You never defended yourself!" he retorted, stung at the insinuation that he couldn't take care of himself.

Harry shrugged instead, sweeping the stick up to point directly at his cousin's throat, making him take a fearful step back, "I was never allowed to," he pointed out with a small bitter smile. "You know what Uncle Vernon would have done if he caught me so much as looking belligerent towards you and your little cronies."

There was no more arguing after that and Harry spent the rest of the day while Dudley's parents were out showing him how to block and defend with the stick.

The next day, there was a horrible smell coming from a large metal tub in the kitchen sink. Harry wrinkled his nose against the offensive odour and gave it a peek. Grey rags in grey water. Petunia must have wanted him to deal with it. Sighing, he took the tub and went out to the bottom of the garden where he tipped the water out.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING, YOU STUPID BOY?!" Aunt Petunia shrieked from the back door, spotting him as he tossed the unwanted rags into the bin.

He eyed her warily, if she came at him with a hot frying pan again, there would be hell to pay. Civilian or not.

"Throwing away the rags?" he suggested. It was fairly obvious what he was doing.

"THAT WAS YOUR UNIFORM, YOU IDIOT CHILD!"

He stared at her, "Wait, you went to the effort of finding clothing dye, and then going through the time and effort of dying Dudley old clothes, instead of shelling out fifteen pounds for a pair of trousers and a jumper?" he demanded, staring at the, quite frankly, mentally challenged woman who had now frozen in the middle of the garden in the middle of her approach to discipline him. "That's weird," he summed up quite bluntly. And Aunt Petunia flinched back as if she had been slapped.

"Get in the house, this instant," she snarled, eyes flicking to the neighbours windows, as if she expected them to be peeking out through the curtains to watch them. She wasn't far off, not that she could see. Harry rolled his eyes and set the metal basin on the patio where it could be washed out with the hose later before going inside.

Aunt Petunia stomped and clattered around grumpily as both Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in. Dudley scrunched his nose up at the lingering scent while Uncle Vernon immediately moved to give Harry a clip around the ear for giving his Aunt trouble. Harry ducked away and went into the hall, Dudley hastily distracting his father from pursuing by questioning him about Smeltings as Harry went into his cupboard with a mutinous glower. In his safe-away, he requipped an apple to hand and ate as quickly as possible before requipping the core away once more.

He sighed when he heard the click of the letter-box and the sound of mail hitting the mat.

"Get the mail, Boy!" Vernon snarled from the kitchen. No doubt intending on giving Harry a proper wallop the moment he was back within the kitchen. If he carried on like that then Harry really was going to have difficulties justifying to himself why he _shouldn't_ use magic on the vicious tub of lard.

He climbed out of his cupboard and went to collect them, idly flipping through the collection. Postcard from Aunt Marge, a brown envelope from the TV Licensing company, and... a letter with his name on it.

Curious, he flipped it around, eyeing the wax seal with a slow burn of interest and excitement building in his gut. Wax seals were only used in fantasy stories or really, really, _old_ historical tales. They used wax seals in Fairy Tail too. He Requipped the letter away before bringing the rest of the mail into the kitchen and flicking them with unerring accuracy onto the table in front of Vernon. No need to get within arms-reach.

Petunia eyed him suspiciously as Harry left and returned to his cupboard.

_Mr H. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey_

No postcode. Though that didn't mean an awful lot. The lack of stamp or post-office ink was a lot more telling. This hadn't gone through the Royal Mail, or any other kind of official postage company. The envelope was thick and heavy, made of a yellowish parchment. Probably animal parchment. Which was ridiculously expensive and only used by, like, royalty in countries where the RSPCA or PETA weren't so bothersome.

The cupboard door wrenched open and Petunia stuck her head in.

Harry looked up from where he was prodding at a spider on his knee. "Can I help you, Aunt Petunia?" he asked curiously, narrowing his eyes on her. It was an unspoken law that his cupboard was _his_. Not even Dudley or Vernon rudely barged their way in.

Petunia sniffed and glared at him, "We're going out. Get up. You're not staying in this house while we're out," she barked.

Harry nodded once and gently brushed the spider away and crawled out, mentally breathing a sigh of relief. When she'd suddenly pulled the door open like that he had practically shit a brick – Requipping his letter away faster than he had ever done so before. She hadn't noticed, thankfully. But it had been a close one all the same.

He smirked as he meandered down the road, Uncle Vernon long gone to his job, Petunia and Dudley on the bus to the high-street. Awesome. Free day to himself without having to worry about chores.

He immediately went to Mrs Figg's to get Carla.

The two of them then retreated through the park, Carla having to run double quick to avoid the children who wanted to pet the cute white kitty, before the two of them were sequestered in one of the green-strip walk-ways and up a comfortable tree.

Harry requipped his letter to hand, "What do you think, Carla?" he asked, handing it to her. She set it down on the branch in front of her and slowly read through the address.

"What is 'cupboard'?" she asked curiously.

Harry blinked and then slapped his forehead. "Oh yeah, I forgot you don't know many words," he muttered before requipping a dictionary to hand and flipping through. He found the right page and held it out for her, "Here. This one. Cupboard, noun, one, a closet with shelves for dishes, cups, etcetera. Two, chiefly British, any small closet or cabinet, as for clothes, food, or the like," he quoted. The white feline nodded thoughtfully.

"This is where you sleep, yes?" she questioned. Harry nodded. "Then they have been very th-oro-ugh in their st-ud-y of you," she decided, taking care to pronounce her words a little slowly, but correctly.

He hummed and nodded, "Yup. It is a little creepy now that I think about it properly. Humans sleeping in cupboards isn't natural. Adults really don't like it when children are forced to. They have laws that mean they can take the child away if it happens," he explained as he Requipped the dictionary away in favour of taking the envelope back. If they knew about his cupboard, and hadn't sent anyone yet, did that mean they didn't care? Or was this something else?

Well, there was one way to find out.

He cracked the wax seal and opened his letter.

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

_Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supereme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

_Dear Mr Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress_

This had to be a prank.

Harry's eyes widened as he read the missive. It couldn't be real. He had been scouring the internet, the papers, the conspiracy theory magazines, anywhere and everywhere he and Miss Jane could think of in order to find other magic users. There was no way he was the only one. And all that effort turned up for nought. And suddenly, pretty as you please, a letter on his doorstep from a magic _School_?!

He practically ripped the envelope open in his haste to get at the rest of the letter, there was supposed to be an equipment list, what about a return address? What the hell did it mean by owl? Was that a special express delivery system at the Post Office?

_HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY_

Uniform  
1. _First-year students will require:  
2. Three sets of plain work robes (Black)  
3. One Plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
4. One pair of protective gloves (Dragon hide or similar)  
5. One winter cloak (Black, silver fastenings)  
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags._

Set Books  
_All students should have a copy of each of the following:_  
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) _By Miranda Goshawk_  
A History of Magic _By Bathilda Bagshot_  
Magical Theory _By Adalbert Waffling_  
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration _By Emeric Switch_  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _By Phyllida Spore_  
Magical Drafts and Potions _By Arsenius Jigger_  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _By Newt Scamander_  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection _By Quentin Trimble_

Other Equipment

_1 Wand  
1 Cauldron (Pewter, Standard size 2)  
1 Set Glass or crystal phials  
1 Telescope  
1 Set Brass Scales_

_Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad._

_PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS_

Well, if this were real... at least he would be allowed to bring Carla with him. Maybe there were other talking cats who could help her learn better? But still... clearly they meant owl as in terms of the animal, not a post office service.

"Well, it's all dandy and good sending me a letter to Magic School, but how am I supposed to reply?" he wondered out loud, looking at Carla who was... how had she gotten his Dictionary? He was pretty certain he's Requipped that away. No matter.

She looked up, "I'm more interested in this so called 'International Confederation of Wizards'," she admitted as she tapped a delicate claw onto the definition of a Confederation within the dictionary. "It sounds very important. And big. If this is real... You need to read as much as you can about the law. See if there's a way to get away from your family using their laws, even if we can't use civilian law."

Harry grinned and swept her up into a hug, ignoring the dictionary as it fell to the ground, "Carla, you're a genius!" he told her proudly as he pressed a kiss to her furry head.

"I know. Now stop squishing me! You're crushing my tail!" she complained as she pushed herself against him.

"Oh, sorry," he apologised, loosening his hold so she could get comfortable.

"There. You may go back to telling me about amazing I am now," she declared regally as she lay down across his chest with a low purr of amusement and affection, butting her head against his chin. Harry chuckled and gently wrapped his arms around her once again, making sure not to squash her, or trap her tail as it twitched against his leg.

"Of course, your lady-ship," he chuckled.

_**000**_

He didn't get anymore letters so, even though it made the both of them very sad, both he and Carla brushed it off as a prank and got on with their lives.

Carla positively devoured the dictionary Harry let her get hold of, and then the thesaurus at Mrs Figg's. She promised that she was being very careful not to get caught, but she was pretty certain that Mrs Figg had an idea that she wasn't a normal cat. From the Thesaurus she went onto the various encyclopedias she could find. Pretty much leaving Harry in the dust, though he did make a concentrated effort to keep up with her – the downside was that she didn't have much in the way of time for reading as he was back doing his jobs around the neighbourhood to earn money for a decent school uniform and stationary. So while Harry was working his ass off, Carla was curled up in a patch of sunshine lazily reading through a book and telling him he'd missed a spot every now and again.

He wondered where she got the attitude from, because she was definitely a lot cuter before she started learning how to talk. As it was, he brushed it off as either his fault, or a cat thing and just shot her a rude hand-gesture that prompted a giggle from his little lady. So nice to know his irritation was a source of amusement to her. Cats were bastards.

Then his birthday rolled around.

The Dursleys saw fit to forget he even had one as the morning started as per usual. Petunia hammering on his cupboard door, telling him to hurry his scrawny backside into the kitchen to make breakfast for her precious Diddidums, and Vernie-poo. Harry merely thanked whatever lucky star he had that she hated him too much to bestow such... er... 'loving' terms of 'endearment' to him.

Requipping a cleaner set of Dudley's hand-offs on, he crawled out of the cupboard to go and see to the bacon while Aunt Petunia went upstairs to get ready for the day – in otherwords, put a face comprised entirely of make-up on so as not to frighten small children, or have some well meaning member of the public call the RSPCA about a horse wondering through suburbia without a bridle or rider.

Harry snickered a little to himself over his uncharitable thoughts as he picked up a strip of half-cooked bacon from the pan and stuck it into his mouth. He would have preferred a properly cooked one, but over the years he had come to appreciate the word 'opportunity', and seize it whenever he got the chance. He slung an extra two pieces in the pan and waited until one of the other strips was a bit better cooked and gobbled it down, licking hot bacon grease from his fingertips. It was something to be savoured, the taste of bacon.

The doorbell went.

"Boy! Answer the door!" Vernon bellowed from upstairs.

Harry growled in annoyance, "Watch the bacon, answer the door, do the laundry, weed the garden, as if I can do all these things at once. How about getting off your fat ass and giving me a hand?" he growled under his breath as he turned down the heat on the stove and made his way to the door.

He put the latch on as a matter of habit, the Dursleys always made sure he did so when he answered as they hated the idea of the neighbours getting a glimpse into their lives when it was less than immaculate and perfect. There was an older woman on the doorstep, wearing a lilac coloured skirt-suit and white blouse with cream coloured embroidery around the neck, she wore a smart lilac coloured hat with a strip of green and blue tartan around the brim, she was also carrying a briefcase and purse. Everything about her was prim, proper, and stern. Right to the tight bun she had her hair pulled into, and the stern lines around her eyes and mouth.

"May I help you, ma'am?" he enquired politely. Something deep in his bones told him that he had better not _dare_ disrespect this woman. Like how you didn't mess with Erza's strawberry cheesecake, or fuck around Mirajane.

Stern green eyes slid downwards and locked onto him, then, to his surprise, they softened ever so slightly. It was like changing a picture from winter to summer, her whole face seemed to soften into something much kinder than he had been anticipating.

"Mr Potter? My name is Minerva McGonagall, I believe you received a letter about Hogwarts from me earlier last month?" she enquired.

Harry's eyed widened, "That wasn't a prank?" he demanded swiftly.

She chuckled, "No, Mr Potter. It wasn't a prank. May I come in?" she asked politely, nodding to the door.

Harry glanced over his shoulder and then turned back to her, "No. My aunt and uncle don't like magic. I'll come out. The park is always pretty quiet at this time of day," he told her as he unlatched the door and stepped outside, Requipping his sandals on as a matter of reflex. She didn't notice.

"Very well, Mr Potter. Lead the way," the older woman told him, gesturing him onwards. Harry nodded and lead her down the street, smirking a little when he heard Uncle Vernon shouting at him from the bedroom window. Ms McGonagall was not impressed, "How rude, that man," she hrrmped, shooting a glare over her shoulder. "A warning, Mr Potter, that kind of behaviour in Hogwarts will see you serving a detention with me writing lines about respecting others. Understand?" she told him sternly, looking him over with a gimlet eye.

Harry nodded, grinning, "Understood, ma'am," he agreed easily enough. He would be too busy running off and learning magic to shout down the corridors at people, never mind insulting them.

The two of them settled down at a picnic table at the park, ignoring a jogger as he ran by.

"As you well know, I am Minerva McGonagall from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, if you would please refer to me as Professor McGonagall, that would be best," the older woman declared briskly as she set her briefcase on the table and began to rummage within.

"Yes, Ma'am."

She withdrew several sheets of paper, "I can only assume that give whom you were raised with, and your lack of knowledge on how to reply to our letter, that you were not informed of us until the letter's arrival, yes?" she asked, presenting a second envelope addressed exactly the same as the last. Harry reached out to take it only for her to yank it back suddenly, staring at the address with wide eyes. "Cupboard?" she echoed in a strange mixture of horror and disbelief.

Harry shifted a little uncomfortably.

"Mr Potter... These envelopes are addressed automatically to the location where each child considers their own, the place where they feel the safest, by an enchanted Quill. It has never made a mistake in the last thousand years. Please explain to me, why it is addressed to the Cupboard under the Stairs," the woman demanded, sounding more and more overwrought as she explained why he couldn't lie to her and demanded an explanation.

Harry shied away, "Ah-haha, funny story that..." he tried to brush it off, "What does the letter mean by 'we await your owl'?" he asked swiftly, trying to derail it.

"Mr Potter!"

Harry flinched away from the upset snap of his name, hunching down in his seat unhappily. "My Aunt doesn't like me. The cupboard is my space. They don't go in there. It's mine," he explained in an embarrassed mumble.

"Mr Potter... Harry... Has either of your guardians ever raised a hand to you?" Professor McGonagall asked, staring severely at him. "If they have, you need to tell me. We do not accept child-abuse in any fashion, Harry. Children are to be protected and cherished."

Harry shook his head, "No."

"Harry..." Professor McGonagall repeated, her voice carrying a gentle warning, as much as it tried to coax the truth from him. She clearly thought he was lying.

He shook his head again, "No, they haven't. I've been waiting for them to do it, but they haven't. I've kind of been wanting them to," he admitted with a smirk as he lifted a hand, lightning crackling and dancing between his fingers. "I told myself I would never lash out except in self-defence. They just had to make the first move."

He snapped his fingers shut and the lightning died away in front of Professor McGonagall's stunned gaze.

_**000**_

**And that's Chapter Four finished.**

**I'm sorry about the lack of update last week. I had a monumental freak out Saturday evening when my eye started bleeding. I didn't get the chapter finished in time and spent most of Sunday hiding under my bedcovers with a patch over my eye and feeling sorry for myself.**

Also, Happy Birthday to Whitney who joined in on the massive discussion thread on my facebook about who should come and give Harry 'The Talk' about the magic world. XDDD There were some real fun suggestions on there.


	5. Chapter 5

**Fairy Tail**

_**000**_

When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!"

_No pairing._

_**000**_

**Chapter Five**

Harry sighed quietly as he trailed behind Professor McGonagall. She hadn't been impressed with his magic and told him that the Ministry, the magical government, frowned heavily on those who used magic against or even around muggles – what they called civilians. If Harry didn't buck up his ideas then he would get into a lot of trouble, more than most. Which sounded odd, and, unable to stop himself, he demanded why _he_ would be treated worse than other people. What on earth would prompt a Government to actively treat an eleven year old boy worse than any other citizen.

That was when he learned the truth about his parents.

She had taken him to a small civilian tea-shop on the highstreet, saying that as she had taken him away from his breakfast so it was only right that she made up for it. He had a full English for the first time in his life, and a pot of tea to go with it. Both he and Professor McGonagall had their breakfast and she explained about his parents' murder, the first war, the Dark Lord and his various names and the reasons therefore (This taboo sounded quite powerful, and what on earth were Wards? Were they anything like Freed's script barriers?), on top of what he could expect while at Hogwarts and the shopping district where they were going to be getting his supplies. Professor McGonagall seemed very apologetic about dumping all that information on him but told him that he couldn't go into their world without knowing exactly who he was, and what would be expected from him by certain people. If he displayed any anti-civilian sentiments, people may assume him to be just as evil as the man who murdered his parents, and try to make an example out of him. Something that he definitely wanted to avoid.

"I don't have a problem with civilian- I mean, muggles though! I just don't like my Aunt or my Uncle. I _hate_ bullies! And they're nothing _but_ overgrown bullies!" he protested, stung by the simple fact that people would hate him simply for disliking people that even they would have hated if they had been forced to live like he had. And a little furious at the world for putting him in such shitty circumstances, though that anger faded when he told himself that adversity bred character and it was only through challenges that he could grow stronger. This was just another challenge he had to conquer.

Professor McGonagall smiled, "I know that, Harry. But other people may find out via second, or third hand information. And such things tend to get distorted over time and retellings. As I'm sure you already know."

He grumbled and huffed but ended up reluctantly agreeing. She had a point. Chinese Whispers was a fun game in theory, but he had seen it in action throughout Privet Drive, and it forced poor Mr Drivenger to move away. Someone found out he used to be a priest before retiring. Somehow in the space of a month, 'Mr Drivenger was a priest before he retired', became 'Mr Drivenger got caught molesting the choir boys as a priest and forced to retire'. His house was getting vandalised almost daily before he suffered a nervous breakdown and had to be taken away in an ambulance. Everyone was very high on their own self-importance for a while later before the newspaper came out with the story of '_local neighbourhood tortures retired priest – slander and lies the shocking true story of Father Drivenger's torment_'. No one ever spoke about Mr Drivenger again. And no one poked their noses or passed judgement on one another for at least the next two months. Then the whole incident was brushed under the rug and forgotten about. Everyone going back to their old selves. Harry tended to spend so much time on Magnolia Drive, Wisteria Street, and Verge Copse doing chores he hadn't been able to do anything until after Mr Drivenger had left – he was the one to give the story to the papers.

"Okay, I'll keep my mouth shut about my relatives," he acquiesced, prodding some of the tomato sauce remnants on his plate with a fork, the picture of a thwarted pre-teen as he stewed on his thoughts.

Professor McGonagall chuckled at him before she put her empty teacup down, "Are you all finished?" At his nod, she got to her feet and collected her purse and brief-case. "We had best be off then. The shops should be open by now but as always it is best to get there early to avoid the worst of the crush. The less people who swarm you, the better," she explained briskly as she shrugged into her lilac blazer.

Harry eyed her, "Why don't I just go in disguise?" he asked curiously.

She paused and eyed him, "If you would rather..."

He nodded, "I just need to get two things from that shop there first," he told her, pointing to the Superdrug over the road.

The two of them left a small tip for the waitress before crossing the road and entering into the shop, Harry spent a few seconds at the make-up isle where he picked out the concealer that best matched his skin-tone and then went into the plasters and first-aid section where he got some spray on plaster solution. Two minutes later in a public rest-room, he appeared with a completely clear forehead, not a single scar in sight.

"Ta'dah!" he cheered. Professor McGonagall stared, even as he ran a hand across his forehead where the make-up should have been and pulled his hand away. There was no smearing, no revealing, and there was no make-up on his fingers either. He grinned at her cheekily. "It'll do for quick conceal, right?" he asked before Requipping a strip of cloth to hand and pulling his hair back, wearing it much like Levi did, and making certain to pull all of his bangs from his forehead to reveal the completely clear skin.

"Y-yes, Mr Potter. That will work quite nicely," Professor McGonagall admitted, a little surprised. The things these muggles came up with! But she couldn't deny its effectiveness. People would take one look at the clear-faced young man in front of her and assume he was just another muggleborn, they wouldn't even equate him to Harry Potter without the scar!

She knew full well several people had begun to camp out at the Leaky Cauldron this summer in the hopes of 'accidentally' running into the Boy Who Lived as he returned to the magical world. She knew she would get a good giggle over this with Pomona later.

After that, she took them to the train-station, explaining that, until he got his wand, he was not legally recognised as part of their community and thus she could not transport him magically to the shopping district Diagon Alley. They would have to do it the old-fashioned way, she added with a small smile. Two singles to London later, they were sat down in a quiet train compartment, their only comrades being a small group of civilians down the other end with headphones on and listening to loud music. They wouldn't be bothered, or overheard.

During the trip there, Professor McGonagall explained about the money system, making sure he understood it completely. Galleons, Sickles and Knuts, their value in comparison to civilian pounds and pence. He asked if any enterprising muggleborn had tried to cheat the system by selling the Galleons and Sickles to muggle shops and getting the value of the raw materials back. She shook her head, looking a little perplexed but explained that the Goblins enchanted the coins anyway so she didn't think it was possible. She then asked why he wanted to know, only to find out that gold and silver went for obnoxiously more than their conversion rate into pounds was valued at. Currently, it was deemed that there was about fifty pounds to the galleon. There were seventeen sickles in a galleon, so, dividing seventeen by fifty meant there was about thirty-four pence in a sickle. Harry wasn't even going to _attempt_ mentally calculating how much a knut was. Just accept the fact that there was twenty nine Knuts to a sickle – therefore four hundred and ninety three knuts to a galleon. Declare it was too difficult for his mental arithmetic abilities and say that it was likely that a knut had less of a value than even half of a penny.

"That... eh, it makes no sense!" he spluttered in distress. "Why only twenty nine? Why not thirty? And why only seventeen instead of twenty? Why use such half-assed values?" he demanded, brain already half-way twisted around the bend. What kind of society was this when they _willingly_ broke their brains like this? "Couldn't it be so much easier on both yourself _and_ the economy if you used increments of tens?" he demanded plaintively.

"That's just the way things are. And watch your language, young man. Swear in front of me again and I'll take points off when you get to Hogwarts," she threatened, wagging her finger.

"Points?" Harry echoed, curiously.

Which then lead into a long conversation about the four houses at Hogwarts, the House Cup, the points system, who could and couldn't remove points, the History of each of the houses, Hogwarts herself, Quidditch and the Quidditch Cup. Harry didn't even notice as they got off the train at Kings Cross and left the building, she was explaining about Quidditch as they stepped into a dingy grotty little pub, Harry hanging off her every word – there were magical _sports_! They actually flew around on broomsticks! It was amazing!

No one paid them any mind as they made their way into the back.

Harry watched in avid interest as Professor McGonagall tapped the wall with her wand, the bricks folding back to reveal a wide cobbled street lined in shops, each just as colourful and outrageous as the other.

"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Professor McGonagall said fondly.

Harry's face lit up excitedly, "This is amazing!" he gasped, staring around with wide eyes before whirling around to look up at her, "Where are we going first? Can we go to the bookshop? No! Wait, are there any Guilds?! I want to see a Guild!" he exclaimed. There had to be Guilds!

The Deputy Headmistress laughed, "We'll be going to the bank first, Mr... ah, what would you like to be known as? You expressed some desire for a peaceful shopping trip."

Harry paused blinking up at her before he grinned, she wondered where those pronounced canines came from – she was quite certain that neither James nor Lily had such dentistry defects. And there was absolutely no chance of Harry being bitten by some kind of magical creature to produce such unfortunate mutations. She made a mental note to suggest his getting them fixed by Madam Pomfrey when he got to Hogwarts.

"Call me Grey." It was the most normal of the Western style names in Fairy Tail, it wouldn't garner any raised eyebrows. He originally thought of Erza, but it was a girl's name, and it kind of stood out. Natsu would get too many eyebrows, same with Laxus. So he decided on the most normal name out of the guys. Plus, it didn't hurt that he liked Grey. They looked somewhat alike with their wild black hair, pale skin, and the scar on their foreheads. Harry was just thankful he didn't have that little stripping problem.

"Very well, Mr Grey. This way. Gringotts is the only Magical Bank and is the domain of the goblins. You will be learning about them during your History of Magic classes. I would suggest you pick up some supplementary reading for that class as Professor Binns is known for waxing poetic on the goblin wars and neglecting other topics," she suggested as they weaved through the milling people in the sundrenched shopping street.

Harry kept his head on a swivel as he tried to absorb as much of the environment as possible. Broomshop, owl shop, wand shop, bookshop, junk shop, joke shop, grocery shop, baby shop. He turned his head. Icecream shop, opticians shop, second-hand shop, robe shop.

"Here we are. Gringotts."

Harry turned to face the front and craned his head back to stare at the impressive snow white marble building. He couldn't stop himself from whistling lowly in the back of his throat. Damn that was some impressive architecture. Well, impressive for something he was seeing in real life and instead of in the pages of a comic book. It positively towered over the other little shops with their ramshackle roofing, gleaming in the late July sunlight. Professor McGonagall led him up the white-stone steps and in through a double set of polished bronze doors, Harry eyed the small beings at the door. The Professor had told him about the Warrior society of Goblins while they were on the train. He hadn't expected them to look so human, to be honest. He was half expecting something out of a Lovecraft novel, or the Goblins from the Lord of the Rings. But these two, manning the doors, stood straight backed with military discipline, wearing neatly pressed little uniforms of scarlet and gold. Sharp, beady eyes leered out of wrinkled and crooked faces with shark's teeth only just about seen between pale bloodless lips.

They bowed as Harry chased the Professor through the first set of doors, and into a small atrium where they came to a closed second set, this time in silver.

"Give that a read, and tell me what you think, Mr Grey," the Professor told him, nodding to an inscription elegantly carved into the softly shining metal.

_Enter stranger but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn,  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there._

He felt an odd tingle dance across his skin and straightened up, "It's enchanted. The actual words. Like uhh, what was it called? Jutsu Shiki! Yeah! It's a form of Letter Magic, it lays out the rules, or rather, restrictions of an action, and also details a punishment for breaking those rules. It works like a magic barrier, it's too slow to be used in a battle but it's almost perfect for traps if used with enough creativity! So here, it says that if you come in to take something that you didn't earn, you have to pay back something you hold dear. They warn that there's more than treasure beneath the floors, which I'm assuming is where the money vault is, so they've got to have some pretty nasty protections. Probably more Jutsu Shiki lining the vault, maybe even guardians," he theorised enthusiastically as he ran a finger under the lines of the little ditty.

Harry had been so busy studying the inscription, he was completely oblivious to the second pair of Goblins watching everything unfold with a pair of gimlet eyes while Professor McGonagall looked on, both stunned and proud of her former students' precious son.

Though, she was a little concerned.

He had already demonstrated a frightful amount of magical control earlier when he summoned lightning in his own hand, and now he was speaking of a barrier magic she had never heard of that sounded remarkably foreign. It was... concerning. Especially given how his relatives had a distaste for magic. Had he been found by some other kind of magic user and taught? It would explain everything.

"Very good, Mr Grey. And you are quite right. The inscription is enchanted to discourage any and all theft attempts. However, if is something that needs to be read to come into affect," she explained while Harry frowned.

"That doesn't sound right," he muttered, "Jutsu Shiki works regardless of where you look. The moment you step into the barrier, you _have_ to play by the rules. The rules are absolute and can only be set by the inscriber..." he trailed off a little unhappily before sighing, "Oh well. I guess there would be differences. Difference methods, different magics," he muttered.

The Transfiguration Professor chuckled, "Shall we go in?" she asked, glancing to the two Goblins who had been watching Harry suss out their inscription. The one closest to her glanced her way and offered an absolutely horrifying shark's grin before bowing and opening the door.

"Ah, yeah, sure. Sorry about that," the young boy said as he quickly shook himself out of his thoughts and chased after her.

The two of them stepped out into a vast marble hall, it was clean and bright but without windows, enchanted crystals and torch brackets lined the room and the large roman styled pillars that stretched up to the ceiling. Built into them were two rows of long counters that framed the room, about a hundred or so more goblins were sitting on highstools behind each counter, taking notes in ledgers bigger than they were, weighing coins on brass scales, examining precious gemstones with jeweller's lenses. Behind them was a walk way that had entirely too many doors to count, where as in front was two corridors that lead away underground and out of sight. There were armed guards stationed in front of those and only a very few people were escorted there by a bank-teller. They all wore very expensive robes, Harry noted – when he wasn't drooling over the armour the guards were wearing. Oh, ooooh, they had _armour!_ Proper armour!

Forget the Guild, his first stop was going to be the armourer. No, he couldn't forget the Guild! He would see the Guild FIRST. Then the armourer.

"Good afternoon, Professor McGonagall to withdraw money from this student's Trust Vault. Vault number six-hundred and eighty seven. And here is the key," the Professor stated briskly as she set a tiny golden key in front of their Goblin teller, dragging Harry's attention away from the guards on the far side of the Hall.

The teller sniffed down at them and picked up the key in his unusually long fingers, handling it carefully and eyeing it from all angles. "Very well. It seems to be in order. I will have someone take you down to the vault. Griphook!" he barked across the Hall, a bare moment later, another goblin appeared, wearing a uniform of deep green and silver.

They were lead behind the counter where Griphook held a door open for them. The reek of darkness, cold, lingering bitter tangs of sulpher and oil filled Harry's nose as a chilled wind swept up his front. Clearly, he should not expect more marble as he stepped into the darkness and blinked, his eyes adjusting to the light. He was stood in a narrow rough hewn stone passageway lit with torches. It sloped steeply downwards and there was even minecart tracks on the floor.

Griphook whistled sharply and a small cart, barely large enough for three, came hurtling up the tracks towards them from the darkness. Inside was a simple bench on the back lip, and absolutely no sign of any manner of controlling device.

Harry immediately jumped in, eyes shining at the thought of exploring an underground maze. The Professor climbed in after him with a small grimace of distaste as she settled herself down. Griphook stepped in after and they were off.

It was almost impossible to follow all the twists and turns – or it would have been for a normal human. Harry, however, had a little gift of moulding his internal lightning to heighten his reflexes. So for him... he memorised every turn, every about face, he even got a glimpse of something that _had_ to have been a dragon before they were racing over a lake.

He didn't get a chance to ask if there were any dragons before they pulled to a stop beside a small door in the passage wall. By then, he was more interested in seeing what the Goblin was doing as he unlocked the door using the tiny golden key – which was then returned to him. He Requipped it away absently, coughing on the green smoke that billowed out of the small door as Griphook opened it. He really, really hoped that wasn't some kind of powdered oxidised metal. How long had it been since this door was opened?

Then he saw the gleam of metal and forgot about his concerns of oxidised metal fucking with his lungs as he saw the small fortune belonging to him deep under London.

"This is the trust fund your parents set up in your name. Unfortunately, due to the nature of their deaths, all of their other assets were seized by the Ministry as 'National Treasures'. I'm sure if you appeal you could get them back though," the Professor told him as she handed him a small lack velvet sack with which to shovel his money into. "Take as much in the way of sickles as you would like. Don't worry so much about knuts, but do be certain to take a number of galleons. Your wand will likely be the most expensive of your purchases today," the Professor suggested.

"Yes, ma'am," Harry acquiesced easily enough, grabbing several handfuls of galleons, only two handfuls of knuts, and then just sweeping an armload of sickles into the little pouch three or four times. To his surprise, even though there wasn't enough space for it all, the money easily managed to fit into the little velvet bag.

One cart-ride later where Harry asked what the difference between a Stalagmite and a Stalactite was (stalagmites stand mighty, while stalactites hang tightly – tites from the ceiling, mites from the floor. Made sense), the Professor led him out of the bank. "Let's work our way down the alley, yes? Then stop and get some lunch. I'll talk you through some of your books and such afterwards," the Professor offered as she lead him down the steps and to a small bright little boutique with mobile mannequins in the window styling the, apparently latest fashion, of robes. In elegant gold cursive on a deep pink background over the window it read 'Madam Malkin's – Robes for All Occasions'.

A little bell dinged overhead as they pushed the door open. Harry supposed it was nice inside, it definitely smelt the same as those posh clothing shops Aunt Petunia liked to go into and act as if she could afford everything inside. The carpet was the same deep rose pink as the paint-job outside, it was thick and plush and Harry liked the way he could dig his toes into it through his sandals. The room was well lit and had several mirrors and floral decorations here and there. Racks of robes were towards the back in every colour and style imaginable, on the other side of the wall were four stacks of cloth bolts, each about two hundred of so long, spanning the wall from the cash-register to the back wall. Rose pink pouf seats were arranged artfully next to a large counter island in the middle of the store and several white stools. Harry could see a blond boy currently stood on one stool with a long set of black robes over his head getting pinned in place by a witch in a mauve uniform.

This he noticed all at once even as a smiling little witch also in mauve hurried over, "Minerva, lovely to see you. Another one for Hogwarts, dearie?" the smiling witch asked before bustling around and ushering Harry off to another stool. He looked over his shoulder, a little anxious, and the Professor chuckled and waved him on as she picked up a magazine from the cashier's desk and sat down on one of the seating poufs near-by as Harry was crowded up onto one of the stools.

He didn't get a chance to question anything before a long robe was being pulled over his head, the little witch beginning to pin it to the right length on him.

"Hullo, Hogwarts too?" the blond boy on the other stool asked, jarring Harry out of his staring.

He jolted a little and looked over, before smiling a little awkwardly, "Yup. First year, you? He asked curiously. Judging by the boy's height he would have said first year, but Harry was short enough to be mistaken for Year Fours back in school despite the muscle he had so it was a possibility that the blond was older than he looked.

The other boy grinned, "First year. I'm Draco, by the way. Draco Malfoy," he greeted, presenting a hand.

Harry glanced down at the witch who was pinning his robes and shot the blond an apologetic look, "Sorry, I would shake, but I think if I lean too far I might fall over the lady here," he said with a smile, instead, opting to wave a hand toward the blond who laughed.

"And we wouldn't want that," he said mirthfully as he took his hand back.

Harry grinned, "Of course not. I may prompt the wrath of the tailor and end up going to school looking like I'm wearing my Aunt Marge's Sunday Best. I'm Harry by the way. Nice to meet you Draco."

"Nice to meet you too. Do you know what house you'll be in for yet?" the other boy asked, shifting as the witch pinning his robes directed him.

Harry hummed, "I'm hoping for Hufflepuff. From what I've heard I think I'll like it the best."

Draco's nose wrinkled, "Why on earth would you _want_ to be in Hufflepuff?" he sneered, looking both confused and affronted at the same time. Harry had to admit, that was something which took skill to pull off without making it look as though there was something unpleasant smelling under your nose.

"Well, for one they value loyalty and hard work above all else. If I were going to go anywhere in school, I'd want to have friends I could count on, Nakama. People I could work with, who would work just as hard as me to do what needed to be done," he explained before grinning over at the blond, something reckless building in his chest.

"The power to overcome reasoning is born from reasoning. Magic isn't a miracle. When the 'spirit' flow within us... and the 'spirit' flow in nature connects, they form an embodiment for the first time. You will need a strong mentality, and a lot of concentration... Pour all of your soul into whatever you do. Carve it into your very being. Know it. And work hard. Your magic will only grow and improve with hard work, effort, and the determination to take it just that one step further. To push beyond your limits and your boundaries."

So he ripped the majority of that speech directly from Master Makarov, but even to this date, it was one of the most profound things he had ever read. And it stuck with him everyday, every time he felt like giving up, saying it was too hard. When he first bit down on the electrical mains and felt like he was dying from the inside out. When his teeth cracked and burned and it felt like his insides were melting. When he just couldn't get the magic to work. When he was lying in hospital and second guessing his decisions to take his magic in the direction he had.

"That's you done, my dear..." the little witch told him, sounding a little shaken.

Harry hopped off his stool, "I'll see you at Hogwarts, yeah?" he asked, looking over at the blond even as the witch whipped the robe from his head and took it away to the front.

"Ah, y-yes. I'll... I'll see you there," Draco said, sounding as if he weren't quite sure what to think or feel about him now. Harry grinned and waved goodbye before moving to the front of the shop where the Professor was watching him with an unreadable expression.

"That was very profound, Mr Grey," she told him seriously. "Where did you learn it?" she asked.

Harry grinned, "Master Makarov," he said cheerfully. He didn't tell her that he was a fictional character, she may choose to ignore the truth of his words if she knew he wasn't a real person. It always annoyed him when people brushed aside wise words simply because of where they came from.

"Here you go my dear, three Hogwarts robes. Will there be anything else?" the little witch asked.

"Ah, yeah! Can I please get a school cloak and hat too? And some casual robes? Do you do custom tailoring too?" he asked curiously.

The little witch beamed and made a note of his requests, "Why don't we go and see if we can't find some cloth bolts and robe cuts you like? And yes, we do custom tailoring, but only with materials in house. If you want custom fabric your best bet would be to look into Twilfig and Tattings. They have a wider range of the more eclectic material options. I hear they even get Acromantula silk shipments from the East, can you imagine? It's all very expensive of course," she added with a tone of disapproval.

About fifteen minutes later, Harry was leaving Madam Malkin's with Professor McGonagall, one galleon and three sickles lighter, but three school robes, two hats, one school cloak, three casual robes, and two dress robes heavier.

Thankfully, Professor McGonagall didn't question him further on who Master Makarov was, she had sternly told herself that whom Harry associated with was none of her business. She was his teacher and nothing else. She had no right to dictate his personal life. He was at the Dursleys for his own safety, the wards were fully functioning as she had observed when she first arrived earlier in the morning (She had borrowed one of Albus's little doohickies in order to make doubly certain. It seemed as though the wards were, however, not anchored with Lily's sister, but rather with her son, the rather shy larger boy, Harry's cousin whom she recalled many years ago kicking his mother and demanding sweets). She had no need to interfere.

After Madam Malkin's, they went to a magical stationary shop to gather Harry's parchment and quills. Harry splashed out a little bit here, telling the Professor when she tried to reign him in that he would only be able to get these supplies once a year, and he had every intention of studying as hard as possible. Ergo, he would need a lot of supplies. She dreaded to think how he would behave once they reached Flourish and Blotts, and instead, opted to treat him like any other Ravenclaw student and _not get in the way_. Harry probably went a little overboard but he didn't much care. Several expanded packets of parchment, three eight mile scrolls – plus cutting equipment and handles, plus drying sand, thirty bottles of plain black ink, twenty of blue, ten of red, a box of pre-cut pheasant quills, two dict'a'quills, a box of thirty pencils, and four packets of three parchment journals. Surprisingly, this haul only totalled up to fourteen sickles and twenty knuts.

Then came the part Minerva had been dreading, Flourish and Blotts.

Harry vanished.

An hour and a half later, a stack of books tottered its way to the counter. The sheer number of tomes, also including the first year text books and a few muggleborn introductory ones, and several law books, and oddly enough a few fiction ones, ended up equalling ten galleons, ten sickles, and four knuts in total. A huge sum. But one that Harry paid happily, and even received a free bottomless, featherweight, ever expanding bookbag to go with it. He eagerly stuffed every book he had purchased into said bag before going to look for the Professor.

She was stood outside waiting for him, looking torn between horror and amusement when she saw the complimentary bookbag – they were only ever issued with purchases of over five galleons or more. In her hand was a single wrought iron cage and a beautiful snowy white owl sleeping inside.

"I know this is highly irregular. But Happy Birthday, Harry. She is for you," the Professor told him as she smoothly handed over the cage, making certain not to jostle the beautiful animal awake. "When you were in there for longer than an hour, I anticipated you may have need of a Post Owl. You can owl order any further books you would appreciate at a later date," she explained as Harry stared, stunned, at the animal.

"Th-thank you, Professor," he breathed, wriggling his fingers through the bars in order to brush them against those beautiful feathers.

A single golden eye cracked open and observed him for a moment, before sliding shut. A second later, all those pretty feathers ruffled a moment before settling down once again. It didn't cross his mind that he technically already had an animal he had every intention of taking with him to Hogwarts, mainly because he had long stopped considering Carla as a pet and viewed her wholeheartedly as a friend and a partner. He was even attempting to teach her magic, but it wasn't going so well.

The next shop saw... difficulties.

"I'm not buying it," Harry declared stubbornly. Torn between disgust and horror.

"Mr Grey, you _need_ a cauldron for your Potions' classes," McGonagall told him sternly.

"Professor, do you know how much lead there is in pewter?" he demanded, looking up at her with narrowed green eyes. What on earth did lead have to do with pewter? "Lead is poisonous, Professor! People used to think tomatoes were poisonous because when they ate them off a pewter plate, the high acid content of the fruit would leech the lead out into it and poison people! They even used to drink beer out of pewter cups and be found at the side of the roads, people thought they were dead and buried them, only when they dug the grave up later intending on reusing it, they would find nail marks in the coffin lids because the people had woken up again later only to suffocate! I'm not buying anything made out of pewter! And I'm sure as hell not drinking anything that was made in it either!"

Minerva McGonagall was quite at a loss of how to respond to this.

"Different metal cauldrons have different affects on the potions they brew, little sir," the shop assistant explained, "I don't know much about this lead poisoning you're talking about, but I can tell you there's been no problem with potions made out of pewter cauldrons. It's a good standard metal, you can brew almost anything in it and there'll be little to no drop in quality. True, for healing potions, you get better results from a silver cauldron – higher the silver content, better the quality of healing. And using certain kinds of stone cauldrons can improve certain aspects of some potions, even change what the potion itself is capable of. But the only danger you're likely to find with a pewter cauldron is them flimsy bottomed French imports.

"See, yer supposed to have about two inches of metal between the flame and the potion. The Frenchies started cutting that down until you've got pewter size 2's with barely half an inch of metal between flame and potion. Pewter's a soft metal, as I'm sure you know. And when that heat is kicking into a potion directly like that, well, yer cauldron is likely as not to not only melt, but also ruin yer potion and turn it into a potent acid with the direct application an' mixing of liquid pewter an' whatever it is you're working on," he explained knowledgeably.

Harry hung off his every word, as this didn't sound like something he would be learning in Hogwarts, though who knew, maybe he would. It just meant he would know more than his classmates by the time he got there.

In the end, he got the pewter cauldron. But he made certain that his protests were known.

And Professor McGonagall made a note to bring the subject up with Severus. She knew he would be interested in a subject like that, seeing whether lead contents in pewter really did have an affect upon the potion brewed in question. She also made an added note to make an amendment on the students equipment list, demanding a two-inch thick bottomed cauldron for health and safety reasons.

_**000**_

**And a double update as an apology for missing last week's update. I hope you guys have enjoyed this. I would like to thank Stalker of Stories for pointing out the Cauldron Bottom thing that Percy was so hot on. Go check out her story, she's done a first in fanfiction history and had Percy Weasley go back in time instead of any of the Golden Trio. It's a good read.**

EDIT: Because I realised after uploading people would call me out on it –

_I HAVE CHANGED THE MONEY CONVERSION RATES!_

In canon, it's said that one galleon equals five pounds. I call bullshit on this. Ergo, I tweaked the values to something I feel is a little more accurate. Fifty pounds to the galleon. Deal with it.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fairy Tail**

_**000**_

When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!"

_No pairing._

_**000**_

**Chapter Six**

**Quick note:** Some people wondered why the interaction between Draco and Harry was so different last chapter, simply put, Harry actually took an active part in the conversation. Draco didn't just drone on about himself. Harry actually participated in the conversation and steered it. He's not as overwhelmed and clueless about the world as he is in canon, this is just a grand adventure to him, he's excited, not scared. It makes all the difference. This will happen a fair bit. And now onwards!

_**000**_

Harry nearly fainted in the Apothecary, his nose shrieking in agony to the point where he staggered and clamped a hand over it, his eyes watering. They got a standard first year potions kit in a handsome little walnut travel case that was wrapped up in brown paper, and with a flick of the Professor's wand, joined the floating train of purchases that hovered just behind them. Given how she had immediately done this after he made his purchases, all with the exception of his books, Harry was a little too hesitant to ask for them back so he could Requip them away.

They left the apothecary where Harry took a deep breath of fresh air, filled with much more appreciation for it than before. He had smelt some awful things in his life – the bathroom after Vernon had been to a work do was a particular biochemical nightmare. But good god, that shop! He didn't think anything could smell worse than his Uncle's ass.

"Right. Just one more stop and then we can have lunch at the Leaky Cauldron. How does that sound, Mr Grey?" the Professor asked, browsing her copy of the student equipment list before looking down at him with a smile.

He nodded cheerfully, "Where to, ma'am?" he asked.

"Ollivanders, makers of fine wands since the Roman era. You will be unlikely to find a more skilled wand-crafter in England. He even ranks amidst the best of Europe," she explained, leading him to a small dark shop, a single wooden wand visible on a dusty purple pillow in the window.

He eyed it sceptically, "But I'm not a Holder type wizard, Professor. Why do I need a wand?" he asked curiously, craning his head up to look at her.

She glanced down at him, "All wizards need a wand in order to access and control their magic," she explained before lifting a hand to silence his protests, "I know you are exceptionally gifted with controlled Accidental Magic, but as you get older you will find this ability dwindle until it is quite outside of your abilities." She realised perhaps a little too late that this was something of a sensitive subject when Harry's eyes widened and a stricken look of pure horror crossed his face.

"No, that's not... It took me years to – I can't," he stumbled over his words before cutting himself off and taking a deep breath, holding it, and then releasing it in a slow sigh. "Professor, I'm a Castor type wizard, I use magic without a wand. I don't _need_ to use a wand. I've worked too hard, trained too hard, to just give up on my magic," he told her firmly as he opened his eyes before summoning up his lightning, it crackled across his whole body, dancing against his skin. "It gets stronger the more I train it, so why... why would it go away? Unless people stop being able to use their wandless abilities because they're too busy relying on those wands?" he suggested pointedly.

Professor McGonagall had to think fast, Harry was clearly much more skilled with his Accidental Magic than any other student before him, and had, undoubtedly, hit upon the very point that the Ministry never wanted anyone to know. You did not need a wand to use magic. It was something you were born with. But wands channelled it for you. If you relied on a wand for too long, your body forgot how to channel, or in some rare instances, its natural channels would close, rendering you incapable of using any magic without a wand, Animagus transformation, or Apparation.

"Be that as it may, Mr Grey, a wand is a legal requirement of the Ministry, and it will be a necessary requirement for certain classes where the extra control it affords you will be essential to successful spell-casting," she explained before opening the wandshop door, "Now come along. I have a feeling this will take some time," she muttered in an undertone.

Mutinously, Harry followed after her, muttering under his breath that he wasn't a Holder type wizard, he didn't _need_ tools in order to cast magic and he never would. A tinkling bell rang somewhere deeper in the shop as the door behind them swung shut. It was quite cramped. They were stood in a tiny clear space, in front of them a cash-desk and behind that an almost ocean of bookshelves filled with little square boxes from floor to ceiling. And everywhere, the smell of dust, and the faint hum of something alive and waiting.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, making Harry tense something awful as he turned to face said voice.

"... S'up?" Harry ventured uncertainly.

"Ah, yes," the man murmured, leaning in close to him. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question and again, Harry felt something very uncomfortable thrum through his body from the pit of his stomach to the tips of his toes, making them tingle with the need to move. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." This man didn't blink. It was creepy as all hell. "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration, as I am well sure that our dear Professor McGonagall knows. Well, I say your father favoured it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course.

"And that's where..." he trailed off, one paper white, spiny hand reaching up and smoothing oddly cold, and soft fingertips over the mark on his forehead, the very mark that was hidden under make-up and clear spray on plaster. Harry shivered under his touch. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it. Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..."

It was then he, thankfully, stepped away and pulled a long tape measure from his pocket. "Well, now – Mr Potter. Let me see... Which is your wand arm?" he asked, brandishing the tape. Harry could see a few silver markings on it as it swished through the air.

"I can use both, but I write with my right-hand, if that helps?" he asked.

Ollivander hummed, "Hold them out. That's it." He then measured Harry from shoulder to finger, wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, around his head, between his nostrils – and then Harry noticed that he wasn't actually even holding the tape measure anymore as the elderly man bustled silently through the shelves of wand boxes.

"Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons -

"Dragons?!" Harry burst out excitedly, "They actually exist?!" he turned to Professor McGonagall with shining green eyes.

She laughed, "Yes, Mr Potter. Dragons exist," she told him, smiling fondly and mentally vowing to never let him meet Hagrid or Charlie Weasley. Charlie may spirit him off to Romania and they would never see the Boy Who Lived again, and Hagrid might just get him a pet dragon if he found out how much the boy seemed to like them.

Mr Ollivander was chuckling, "That will do," he told the tape measure as he made his way over with a box in hand. "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."

Harry could have had a seizure, he was about to touch something from a real dragon. A REAL dragon!

His fingers grazed the wood a moment before he picked the wand up, grimacing as he felt something odd in his stomach. He gave it a flick, feeling a little silly to do so, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out from his fingers almost at once.

He presented a different box, this time red.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try -

He did, but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was taken out of his hand by the older man, who was humming thoughtfully as he presented a light grey box now.

"Here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out."

He tried. And tried. And tried. He had no clue what the old man was looking far, but he did notice how after a while the length didn't seem to change, always hovering at eleven inches. And then the same colour of box was presented, a red one, meaning a phoenix feather. A small pile of wands had begun to form on the desk, and the more wands Harry went through, the happier Mr Ollivander became as he trotted through the shelves, spindy fingers working like the many legs of a particularly hyperactive spider as he pulled box after box from every knook and cranny he passed.

"Tricky customer, tricky customer! We will find the perfect match for you yet!" he crowed. Harry was getting the impression that exciting things must rarely ever happen to the old man, so actually having to work hard at finding the right wand must have been the first interesting thing to happen in a while. That, or he just loved a challenge. Probably the latter, thinking about it.

The old man suddenly stopped, fingers reverently pulling a dark red box from a shelf. "I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination..." he made his way over and presented the wand box. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple..."

Thoroughly fed up, irritated that they were _still_ at this, even though he'd made his opinions on Holder type magic clear, he snatched the wand up and slashed it through the air in frustration.

His magic wrenched.

Harry yelped in shock and discomfort as a shower of silver sparks and golden lightning crackled through the dusty air of the shop, right before Harry flung the wand from his fingertips and backed the hell away from it, cradling his arm. What the fuck, that the _fuck_ had just happened?!

Mr Ollivander clapped his hands and cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed," he paused then, catching sight of the eleven year old cradling his hand as if hurt and eyeing his wand like a viper. "Oh my, is something the matter, Mr Potter?" he questioned.

"That thing, I don't like it," the boy growled low in his voice, "It hurts."

The two adults exchanged looks. Wands... couldn't... harm their users. It was unheard of.

"Can you describe how it felt?" Mr Ollivander asked, snatching up a sheet of parchment and a self-inking quill from his desk draws. Professor McGonagall picked up the lad's wand and carefully boxed it away. Undoubtedly it was the wand who chose him, but his reaction was... unsettling. The fact that he looked so annoyed and bored right before those sparks, and then his immediate rejection of it, she began to draw up names and Floo addresses of discreet Healers she knew who would be willing to swear to Vows of Secrecy.

Harry shifted, rubbing his forearm, looking thoughtful, "You know... when you bang your funny-bone, and your whole arm feels weird?" he asked, getting nods, "It felt a little like that, but it _started_ in my hand and went up. Instead of my elbow and going down. It was... hot. It felt like a pull and my fingers and palm were numb and cold. Something was weird with my stomach too. It... It felt like the first time I successfully swallowed elect- er, lightning," he corrected himself, remembering Professor McGonagall's explanation of there being no electricity in the magical world – which put a lot of his dietary and training plans somewhere in the shitter.

"Ate lightning?!" Professor McGonagall gasped in horror and disbelief. "What kind of magic have you been practising?!" she near enough shrieked.

Harry leaned away from her, warily, was his magic really so unusual? "The book said it was Dragon Slayer Magic. You're supposed to learn it from dragons themselves, but there were none near Privet Drive. So, I used what I knew to figure it out. I studied physics in school, and biology, so I made it work," he explained uncertainly before Requipping his notebook to hand, smiling a little fondly at the rather dog-eared thing. It bulged out with all the extra scarps of paper and notes he had glued and taped and stapled in with notes and ideas on various different kinds of magic. There were even a few that Miss Jane had added. He flipped it open and went looking for Happy's explanation, it was one of the more accurate descriptions of how Dragon Slaying Magic worked.

Minerva McGonagall knew that dealing with Harry Potter would be difficult. She had been assuming/hoping he would be like his father, boisterous, probably arrogant, and an absolute hellion, always running off and poking his nose into trouble. Or like his mother who was more curious than a bag full of Kneazle kittens and guaranteed to get her fingers into something troublesome, or endlessly ask questions over one thing or another. She had even been prepared for a horribly abused little boy reminiscent of a few Slytherin Muggleborn she had taken under her wings at Severus's request when the Slytherin Commons proved to be too dangerous for their health.

She had not been expecting a highly intelligent, driven, _mature_ young man – because despite his lack of height, or his age, she couldn't see him as a child, no matter how she tried, there was just... something. She had not been expecting demonstrations of highly advanced magic controlled _wandlessly_ and the (hopefully deluded) declaration of 'Dragon Slayer Magic'. And then he conjured a notebook. Normally not cause for concern, aside from the fact that Conjuration was a Sixth Year Transfiguration technique that many students continued to have difficulties with well into their seventh year, AND the fact that said notebook was obviously used. You could not conjure something wish such fine detail, it was not possible. Which meant that the notebook was _not_ a conjuration but in fact something that had always existed but was just... elsewhere.

Just what kind of magic was this?

"'_Dragon's lungs to spew out flames, its scales melt flames, and its nails are dressed with flames. This is an ancient spell that converts the body to a dragon's constitution. It's originally a Dragon Interception Magic._' That's how it was explained. You consume the corresponding element, compress and digest it, taking the properties into yourself and then mould it to your purpose before releasing it," the boy explained factually before flipping through a few pages and showing them a little diagram of someone putting a flame in their mouth, it going into their stomach where it rolled into a ball and then spread out through the rest of the body. "There are different kinds of Slayer Magic, about as many kinds as there are dragons. The main examples I had to follow at first were Fire and Lightning, there was a Poison type too, but that was induced with a magical artefact that I didn't have. There are other types, but by the time they were introduced I had already started on my type. Since Privet Drive didn't have an abundance of fire, I decided it would be better for me if I focused on Lightning Dragon Slayer magic. That way when my Uncle or Aunt withheld food, I could just eat the electricity out of the kitchen appliances to survive," he explained, sounding so nonplussed and calm that it took a few seconds for the explanation to properly sink in.

"They withheld food?!" Minerva snarled furiously.

Harry shrugged, "I was pretty close friends with the school librarian, Miss Jane, so it wasn't like they could hit me or anything. She would have noticed. And her Dad is a police officer, so Uncle Vernon wouldn't _dare_." He shrugged, "It's no big deal, Professor. I did plenty of jobs around the neighbourhood to earn money, I didn't even _have_ to stay at that house if I didn't want to. I never went hungry after I started working around the neighbourhood." His hand twisted in mid-air and an apple appeared in a puff of smoke. "Using my Requip magic, I could just store my food elsewhere and summon it to my hand whenever I wanted. I keep everything in there. Clothes, money, books, food, even my toys," he added with a blush and a smile as the apple vanished and an odd cat-shaped teddy with wings and a green sash around its neck appeared. Harry cheerfully cuddled it into his arms, "Miss Jane got it for me for my last birthday," he explained, "I have to hide it or Uncle Vernon would probably set it on fire. Blue cats with wings aren't natural."

It was heartbreaking. Utterly heartbreaking and she didn't know what to do or say or how to handle this.

The teddy vanished in a puff of smoke and Harry gave her a smile, "Don't worry about it Professor. First chance I get, I'm going to see if I can't leave them, get myself put into a Youth Hostel, or whatever variant of a Magical Orphanage I can find." He paused then and tapped his chin with a finger, "Oh yeah, I'm famous. Hmm, maybe not an Orphanage then. That would be a bad idea. Maybe Emancipation?" he pondered before looking over at the Gryffindor Head, "Professor, I have to ask, what kind of summer programmes are there in the Magical world? At my old school we were often invited back for summer classes. Since Hogwarts is a boarding school, do they have Summer accommodation?"

"I-I am afraid not. No one may stay in the castle during the summer. It is so the wards can be recalibrated with the magic bleed off. Due to the number of practising wizards and witches, often times the very walls of Hogwarts become saturated with energy. The staff members need the summer in order to bleed off that energy, channel it into the wards, or into the earth, to prevent damage to the structure of the castle. Magic is very chaotic, I would say that change and possibility are its very nature. Leaving it to saturate any one area can lead to unique and often unwelcome developments. Such as walls with sentience, patches of ground that sometime vanish or turn to mud and solidify when someone steps in them. Or it can even cause Poltergeists and various other malignant magical entities. I am sorry, Mr Potter, but no students can remain within the castle. Most members of staff are even forced to leave," she explained fully and carefully.

Harry hummed, "Well... I do have that huge pile of Gold. Maybe I can ask one of the shops here if they would be willing to put me up as a lodger during the summer? I could pay rent, do part time work in the store if they had need of it. It would mean I was around fully trained wizards at all hours, meaning that my protection wouldn't be a problem, I would also be able to pursue self-study in any magical area I wished." Minerva wanted to sob, he was so mature, he was making these adult-like decisions and she could personally see absolutely no wrong with them, but she _knew_ Albus. He would force the boy back to that toxic environment. All for the Greater Good. And she could see his point. The Blood Wards were the best chance of protecting Harry from Voldemort, but they did absolutely nothing to protect him from the muggles themselves.

Ollivander coughed a tad, garnering their attention, he smiled at the young man, "You are quite the mature young man, aren't you, Mr Potter?" he observed in amusement. "Should you so wish to perform any part-time work, or look for a place to call your home during the summer, I would recommend Florean Fortescue. He owns the Ice-Cream shop over the alleyway. He was quite the Hitwizard during the First Rise and is a well-known and highly regarded gentleman. No eyebrows would be raised should you request his help in your endeavours. You would also be welcome here, should you wish it, but I warn you. Wand-crafters often become targets during times of war," he added gravely, placing a hand on the boy's head, gently threading his fingers through fine black hair as silvery blue moon eyes bored into fresh grassy emerald green. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter. And after a time, the wand is the only power they have. Remove the wand, often times, you remove the threat."

Green eyes widened in realisation, "Can you tell me why it feels so weird? The wand, sir?" he asked.

Ollivander smiled, "Because the wand moulds your magic for you. Directs and channels it. It takes magic directly from your body and expels it in accordance to your will. For those who have already honed their will, already learned to mould their magic, it will feel very peculiar indeed. Worry not. You will get used to the sensation before long. But continue your Dragon Slayer Magics all the same. Natural magical focus as you have demonstrated is so rare these days, it would be a true shame for it to die completely."

They left soon after, paying seven gold Galleons for the wand, Mr Ollivander bowing them out from the shop with a mysterious smile and a wave.

Harry was still anxious about the Holder item, and Requipped it aside, he would bring it up when he had need of it and not before. Though it looked as though he would be forced to use it quite often in this strange magical world. This strange magical place where people were just so... so lazy.

_**000**_

The rest of the day passed in a fairly subdued way. As promised, Professor McGonagall took him to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, calling him Mr Grey the whole while as he asked her questions about dragons – which he was very disappointed to learn were just dumb firebreathing beasts. That... wow... way to kill a childhood dream. He guessed the Fairy Tail dragons were just different.

He learned about magical transportation – such as the Knight Bus which he would be taking _shameless_ advantage of for the rest of the month, Apparating, Portkeys, he even learned about the illegal Flying Carpets (that was so awesome, he asked why they were illegal and was told about the impossibility of getting Disillusionment charms to stick on the fabric properly – people in China had often mistaken Flying Carpets with botched charms as wingless dragons. He also learned about Brooms, and was told about Quidditch, learning that his father was actually on his House's school Quidditch Team.

Though Professor McGonagall wouldn't tell him which house either of his parents had been in.

"After you have been sorted, my office door shall always be open to you. But I don't want to influence your placement. You house will be your family, it is a place where you will grow into your own self. I don't want you opting against a place where you could truly belong and feel comfortable, in favour of another merely because it was where your parents were," she explained gently as he scowled down at his beef Wellington and peas.

"I guess. But I'm still curious," he muttered, making her laugh a little.

"Well, I can tell you that your father was one of the best in my class. He had talent in other areas yes, but it was Transfiguration where he truly shined. Your mother was much the same, she was a very driven young lady who accepted nothing but the best from herself. She was particularly gifted with Charms, the youngest Charms Mistress in a good few decades in fact. Her potions work was very nearly the same though she never pursued a Mastery at it. Your father loved flying, where as your mother could often be found somewhere in the school drawing whatever took her fancy. She was quite the skilled artist," the Professor explained, Harry hanging onto her every word. It was nice to hear about his parents, about what they were like, instead of merely how they died.

It felt like the day was too short when Professor McGonagall Apparated him back to Privet Drive (He decided then and there he never wanted to learn because he hated it).

Watching her verbally rip into Vernon and Petunia was glorious.

Dudley was lurking in the kitchen with him, the two of them more than able to hear the angry tribute. His cousin looked rather shocked as he listened, probably because it had never occurred to him that the way his parents treated his cousin was wrong. That it was, in fact, illegal and immoral. Poor Dudley looked as though he didn't know what to think, he kept looking between the kitchen door where the argument was happening, and Harry who was eagerly sorting through his vast numbers of text books with just as much glee as he felt when confronted with a pile of new computer games.

His cousin was a freak. There was no escaping that.

But he was also nice, Dudley realised.

He didn't let people bully Dudley, not even his old 'friends'. He even taught him how to protect himself, Harry _trusted_ him not to hurt other people even when he taught him how to fight, because he said Dudley knew how it felt to be on the receiving end. His cousin helped little old ladies do their gardening, he ran errands to the shops for them – of course Dudley knew about his little chore business, he had gone rummaging in his cupboard looking for the money more than once but never found any. Harry always spent it immediately on food. Food and clothes that his parents never bothered to give him. And Dudley realised then, with a very unpleasant start, that is wasn't normal that a little boy had to work and buy his own food because his guardians wouldn't feed him.

It just hadn't been until today that Dudley truly realised just what that uncomfortable feeling in his stomach was whenever he looked at his parents.

Guilt. And self-loathing.

So when his mother gave his junk room to Harry for a bedroom, he didn't kick up a fuss.

Instead, he helped his cousin move in. Harry even fixed some of the broken things in there and gave them back, the other things were given to charity shops where they could get someone a bit better than Harry to try fixing them. When they were done, Harry's room was pretty plain. A window on the far, left hand side of the room opposite the door. A chest of draws beside it. The boiler on the right hand side of that with a rather battered white desk against the right wall, a set of shelves with some old books on it, a wardrobe beside that half hidden behind the open door. A bed against the left hand side wall, and a second desk, this one dark, heavy, and wooden. It was too big to push out of the door, and it came with the house, it had a single draw and a cupboard door. The walls were grey-white, the ceiling white with swirling plaster patters. The curtains were a weird tye-dye design in grey and white.

It was a very bland and depressing little room.

Until Harry started to unpack.

Dudley had never seen Harry's magic at work, he had been expecting more lightning, but the puffs of smoke and objects appearing out of thin air was pretty cool. Books, so many books were dumped on the two desks, they were so weird too. Then came the clothes. Robes, cloaks, Harry even laughed as he plopped a pointed hat on Dudley's head, telling him it suited him before putting away what looked like a school uniform and several other different robes. A quick glance in the mirror had Dudley blushing a little in pleased embarrassment. The two of them spent all evening up in Harry's room, chatting, Harry telling him all about the magic world as he made food appear and shared it between them. It wasn't what Dudley liked, seeing as most of it was fruits, nuts, bread and such – it made sense as Harry couldn't cook things or keep them frozen in his cupboard.

He even agreed to take Dudley with him to the magic world the next day, as long as he kept it secret from his parents.

Dudley couldn't wait!

_**000**_

**And done. I wanted to make something of a relationship between Dudley and Harry. I know this sort of thing happens in real life, but I really hate seeing families that can't get along. It just doesn't make sense to me. Probably because I manage to get along with all of my family – excepting Cousin Jim, we love to tease one another too much.**

**So yeah. Dudley won't be a MAJOR part of the plot, but he'll be present. **

**It all kicks off next chapter! Oooh, exciting!**

There were a few (more than a few) canon tweaks in this chapter. Please, I told you I would be twisting a bit of the canon in order to build a different manner of world. For instance, Dudley's room. It's not described in the books. I hate the films, so I've pretty much taken the smallest bedroom in my friend's house and just described it with a blander colour scheme. As well as a few other things.


	7. Chapter 7

**Fairy Tail**

_**000**_

When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!"

_No pairing._

_**000**_

**Chapter Seven**

"So, Minerva, how did your day with young Harry go?" Albus asked, sipping at his lemon tea, eyes positively twinkling as he observed her over the rim of his teacup. They had sequestered themselves away in his office for afternoon tea along with Severus – who's face soured considerably from the previously antisocial frown to an outright acidic scowl – Filius and Pomona. It was a common ritual before the start of term, usually nothing more than a spot of fun as they would debate over which child went where and who they should keep an eye on for certain talents, or troubles at home, or potential bullying issues.

She should have known Albus would attempt to steer the conversation to young Harry as soon as possible.

Her stomach twisted with resentment.

She didn't know what to tell him. Caught, as she was, between a rock and a hard place within her own morals, and her instincts as a teacher. Never mind every scrap of common sense she possessed and her affections for the afore mentioned child who was nothing like she had expected.

If she told Albus how intelligent he was, the man would draw more parallels between Harry and Tom Riddle and judge him with the eye of a man expecting a threat and looking for it, jumping at shadows. If she mentioned the magic, he would react with heavy-handed intimidation, try to force him into the mould of the precious Boy Who Lived, or else. He would treat the poor boy as a miniature Dark Lord already without ever having met him. She had seen him do so before. And unsurprisingly, the child in question had not hesitated to turn to the Dark Lord (her eyes slid traitorously to Severus at this thought. Both she and Albus had done him such a disservice that she still did not know how to go about making it up to him). If she even _breathed_ about Harry's intentions to leave his Aunt's residence, Albus would turn that house into his prison – for the Greater Good.

And that there was her problem.

Because Harry was smart. He would dive head first into magic, and he would dig and explore and he would stumble onto things best not touched. He would need an open ear, someone to explain – in context – the things that he finds, make certain he didn't accidentally stray into areas that could get him hurt, or in trouble with the Ministry. Never mind that he had developed two new branches of magic which had unknown, potentially dangerous, affects on the body meaning that he would need careful supervision, medical examinations, guided study and assistance to maximise his ideas without causing harm. As for leaving the muggles, he was more prepared for life on his own than any of the seventh years who had just _left_ Hogwarts, he had a clear idea of what he could do, a plan, even contingencies for if it went under, he was level headed, mature, hard working... He could manage quite well living on his own, she could tell that. But it still went against every bone in her body to let such a young boy strike out on her own. He needed the blood wards to protect him from You Know Who and all those who carried his Mark. But just one meeting with that Dursley barbarian and Lily's shrew of an older sister and she knew those blood wards would not protect him from _them_. And she had little in the way of doubts that Dursley would eventually choose to _forget_ her dire warnings over what would befall him should he ever cause that boy harm.

So... what did she do? What could she say?

She remained quiet for a time, gathering her thoughts as she sipped her tea.

"He was not what I expected," she finally allowed, setting her cup down and folding her hands primly in her lap. "When you left him on Petunia Dursley's doorstep I expected the worst, either a child so spoilt rotten he did not even know the meaning of the word 'manners', or a child so downtrodden and neglected that maintaining control of my temper would prove to be an exercise in failure," she stated calmly, with a vicious glare at the Headmaster to prove her point. She didn't notice Severus's fingers pause as they raised his cup to his lips. "Luckily, he was neither of these things. And not through Petunia's lack of effort, I add," she growled before reaching into her robes and presenting the envelope his letter came in, she set it onto the table with a dark glare at Albus.

"Tell me, Albus, in what loving family does a little boy call a Cupboard under the Stairs his bedroom?"

_**000**_

The next day, Harry was up early. He had already read through his books and, as much as he hated the object in question, he found a lot of useful spells he could use with his wand. One of which being the Sticking Charm. Harry packed his bottomless messenger bag – brown leather with the Flourish and Blott's logo on the bottom left hand side of the front flap – and left the house after casting said Sticking Charm on his bedroom door. He immediately went to Mrs Figg to pick up Carla – as she would definitely get a kick out of the magical world and he saw a shop with a few toys in there that he knew she would appreciate.

Dudley would meet him in half an hour at the same local café that Harry had his breakfast at the previous day with Professor McGonagall. Then Harry would summon the Knight Bus (Or rather, the Day Bus), to take them to Diagon Alley. Once in the little café, he ordered another full English Breakfast, without the tomato or the black pudding this time, he tucked in with gusto. People watching out of the window as he ate, Carla curled up in his lap purring. There had been little trouble from the staff in regards to her, no one had actually... brought a cat into the shop before, so they weren't quite sure how to react beyond asking him not to let her onto the table.

His cousin was a little late, but that was because his mother had wanted to come with him, it took some time to shake her off. He gave Carla a funny look before asking if he could stroke her – apparently even Dudley wasn't fond of dogs after the whole Ripper visitation, he preferred cats as they weren't noisy or liable to attack him without provocation. Harry quickly replicated his trick with the concealer and spray on plaster before summoning them their transportation.

The Day Bus was a real wild ride, they sat in their arm-chairs wooping and hollaring with glee as they went sliding around the bus, giggling when they bumped into one another. Carla didn't appreciate it as much as they did, but she obediently kept quiet and spent most of the ride with her fur on end and her claws digging in hard enough to break skin on Harry's lap. He didn't say anything, feeling a little guilty, as he stroked her fur down and lifted her onto his shoulders as they got off the bus, a giggling witch waving them goodbye and making Dudley turn red – he had ended up catapulted out of his seat when he crashed into hers and faceplanted into her breasts. Luckily, she was a good sport about it and seemed to find his cousin adorable.

Harry made their first stop Madam Malkins where he footed the bill to get Dudley some navy blue robes trimmed in gold. His cousin couldn't stop staring at himself in the mirror and smoothing the fabric down between his fingers in awe. Harry had to admit, the navy blue was a _lot_ more flattering on him than his Smeltings uniform, it made him look more mature and dignified, bringing out the blue in his eyes, while the gold trimming made his skin tone seem warmer and healthier. Harry also got him a pointed hat in the same colour, telling him with a laugh that he could wear it on Halloween at school, that had been when Madam Malkin realised she was fitting a muggle and smiled absolutely beatifically, telling him that she was glad he was sharing their world with his brother – not many people did and it was very sad in her opinion, it caused family rifts and, as Harry had learned by now, nothing was more important in Wizarding society than family.

Dudley went vivid pink, and Harry laughed at the Madam, thanking her as he paid for their purchases. He Requipped into his robes from the other day, forest green with gold embroidery, and his green 'Levi' headscarf, he linked arms with his cousin and pulled him out of the shop. He had always felt a little bad that he couldn't connect with his cousin very well, but now, now he could. His cousin had made the first step, and now Harry was going to grab his hands and run the rest of the way with him. He would accept him with all of his heart, because wasn't that what a Fairy Tail mage would do?

Harry grinned to himself, Carla rubbing their cheeks together, as he dragged his cousin from shop to shop, showing him everything.

They got icecream at Florean Fortescue's, Harry got some comics from Flourish and Blott's for Dudley, they spent most of lunch laughing over 'Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle'. Harry ran into Draco again, he was trotting along after his father and didn't have time to stop and chat, but the two of them did manage to shake hands properly before Draco had to run and catch up with his father. They spent who knew how many hours in the Quidditch shop, Dudley was fascinated by the moving models and Harry had found several sets of binoculars called 'Omnioculars' that apparently recorded various Quidditch matches, it even had slow motion options, and a little thing that told you what foul or what manoeuvre was being used. They even stopped off at the pet shop where Carla picked out the things she wanted – startling both Dudley and the witch behind the counter when she started to speak, they also got some treats for Erza, the snowy owl that Professor McGongall got for them the previous day.

It was a great day, and even Dudley was disappointed to go home.

Sneaking back in was a bit of a problem, but not too big of a one. Harry took Dudley's robes and hat, Requipped them away along with his own and his bag, Dudley went in first to talk to his parents, distract them, while Harry slipped in after him and went upstairs. He would then give Dudley the robes and his comics to smuggle back into his bedroom.

Carla hopped off his shoulder and went to go and sniff at Erza, this would be the first time the two of them had met, not to mention the first time that Carla had ever come home with him. Usually he dropped her back off at Mrs Figg's. Now though, now his relatives wouldn't even touch her – not that he would have let them, but the fear was still there. Harry grinned as the owl and the cat made friends, putting away the new books he'd picked up, and the other bits and bobs.

Tomorrow they were going to go and explore Knockturn Alley.

_**000**_

Harry didn't know what was more disappointing.

That Knockturn Alley didn't have a Guild, or that they didn't have a weapon shop for enchanted knives or armour or anything. The closest he could find was Borgin and Burkes, and that was filled with nasty things that made his nose itch – Carla actually sneered at Mr Borgin and told him that if he was going to be calling anyone 'Mudblood' he should at least take a bath as he smelt as if he had sewage for blood. It was almost hilarious how quickly the man shut up, his eyes positively bugging out at the pretty pure white _talking_ cat.

Harry just laughed at her, and at the shopkeeper before bidding him goodbye, tell him that he was after enchanted armour and weapons that improved physical capabilities or provided different avenues of magic, not instant death or use in sacrificial rituals.

Someone attempted to steal Carla not even half an hour later. They were left in a heap, twitching and shuddering as static electricity crackled across their skin. Like hell Harry was going to let anyone lay a single finger on his cat. Anyone who tried was going to get a Rairyuu no Houkou to the face.

He met several potential classmates, a brown haired girl who liked books just as much as both he and Carla called Hermione, he pointed her to several good ones that explained the more obvious cultural facts. She was really smart and Harry made a mental note to keep an eye on her at Hogwarts, she didn't seem the type to be able to make friends easily due to her studiousness. Most eleven year olds wouldn't be interested in learning how and why you needed six kinds of a certain slug in a potion as opposed to making things explode.

He didn't see Draco again, but he ran into a woman who reminded him a lot of the boy, possibly his mother. He didn't talk to her, just watched briefly as she went into a pretty boutique shop, possibly a salon maybe? He made a mental note of where it was, you never knew when such things could be useful. But on second thought, he went in anyway and walked out with a hair-lengthening potion. He really did want to distance himself from the Magical World's ridiculous view on what 'Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived' should have been like. Changing his appearance was just the first step. So he got the same haircut as Levi-chan, because he liked it and it looked good with his bandanna which he had every intention of making a regular fixture.

It may have been a bit feminine, but again, Harry didn't much care. His concept of gender differentiation had been skewed for a long time. Most little boys grew up learning that you didn't _ever_ hit girls, that boys had to be into cars and robots and aliens and explosions, that girls were into dolls and flowers and cooking and princesses. But he had been doing all the cooking and cleaning at the Dursley house. He had enjoyed gardening with the flowers that didn't shout or try to hit him. He didn't like robots, he thought they were pretty pointless, and – yeah okay, he liked explosions, at least a little bit. He didn't know what an alien was, save that it came from another planet and was pretty nasty to humans. And all the Princess stuff that he'd got a glimpse of when Dudley was watching the Disney channel on the sly was almost the same as what Harry did anyway so... did that make him a Princess or something? Food for thought, he had decided after watching Cinderella and Tangled. That was it. Boys got into fights. Got bloody and made friends and were strong. Girls giggled and screamed when they broke a nail and needed saving.

He was never taught not to hit girls. Instead, he read about how girls could be just as evil, if not more so than boys, how both of them made mistakes, both of them got into fights. Got bloody. Got hurt. He learned that in a fight it didn't matter if you were male or female, if you were born in poverty or royalty. In a fight... you were just two people.

Fairy Tail had affected him more than he had even realised.

_**000**_

"You'll write, won't you?" Dudley asked quietly, the night before Harry was due to leave for Hogwarts.

His chubby cousin had slipped into his bedroom late at night, after his parents had gone to bed, and the two were currently curled up on Harry's bed, under Dudley's quilt and Harry's own ratty blanket. A single candle burned on the table, illuminating Erza's golden eyes as she cooed softly in the room, she had been locked away for the evening pending their trip to Kings Cross the next day.

Harry hummed, Carla curled up fast asleep in his lap, "Sure. Erza's a post owl," he told his cousin with a grin, "Don't worry, Lee," Harry assured him, having shortened his cousin's name into something much less embarrassing – to the blond boy's delight, he liked the name, it was so much cooler than 'Dudley'. What his mother had been smoking when she named him that he did not know. She clearly had no concept of playground bullying. "You know how to defend yourself. And if it gets real bad, just say the world, I'll come and sort them out, promise," he declared firmly, and meant it too.

Erza cooed in agreement, making Dudley smile abashedly down at his chubby toes.

_**000**_

The next morning, Harry got up early and dragged Dudley out with him to what they had come to consider as 'their' café for breakfast – much to Harry's surprise, Dudley paid for their breakfast, admitting with a blush that he had washed Uncle Vernon's car in order to earn some money. Harry was so proud of him. Both of them knew Vernon would have given his son the money anyway if he had asked, but even Dudley admitted that there was something very satisfying about knowing you'd earned it. Especially when he used it to treat someone he cared about.

Harry very nearly cried at that, hugging him tightly for what was probably the first time in their lives – and the last for several months to come.

Not several minutes later, Harry had summoned the Day Bus and waved goodbye to his cousin as it shot off towards London. Carla wiped his cheeks dry and tried to sooth him, but there was nothing wrong, he was just happy. Happy that he had a family member who didn't hate him, who, given time, might actually love him like a brother should.

Again, Carla didn't appreciate the bus ride, but it was at least over quickly. Apparently there was a kind of Priority Order on customers and destinations, Students to Kings Cross got Priority on September 1st, the rest of the time it was on a first come first serve basis.

"Thank you very much for the lift, Miss Kayla," Harry called as he jumped off the bus, waving goodbye to the Squib-girl with the bright smile. Carla held against his chest with one hand, the other carrying Erza's cage as they went through the entrance to the train-station, it was as crowded as always. Harry huffed, forced to dodge past several men and women in suits before huddling himself against one of the snack stands. He rummaged in a pocket for his ticket.

He knew how to get onto the platform, but he just wasn't a hundred-percent sure where it was. Platform 9 and 10 was over there... He hummed and shifted his hold on Carla, "I'm going to run, hold on tightly," he told his cat as she dug her claws in almost immediately.

He ignored the pain and took off at a jog, arm straining a little with how he held Erza's cage in order not to jostle her. It was a surprisingly smooth journey as Harry ducked in and around tourists in backpacks, business men and women with briefcases, teenagers in outrageous fashions, families with buggies and small children.

He closed his eyes and ran head-first into the wall.

And out the otherside.

"Oh my god!" Carla gasped as Harry came to a stop.

The platform was mostly deserted as Harry had insisted on showing up early in order to get a good seat – however, looking at the train, it was very old. Likely as not it had compartments instead of seats. So old... The scarlet steam engine gleamed in the early morning sunlight from the glass roof overhead, billows of white caressing the black roofs of the carriages and red lacquer of the wooden panels. A sign overhead read '_Hogwarts Express, 11 o'clock_' in elegant cursive, a few families, barely five, milling around as they said goodbye to their children and saw them settled into their compartments. Harry gently set Carla down, she was in no danger of getting stepped on here.

"Harry, may I have my clothes?" she asked, looking up at him, "I do not wish to make a bad impression."

He nodded with a small smile as he Requipped the little uniform he got Madam Malkin to custom make for her. Just like Dudley, she too had been fascinated and a little enamoured with his little lady who, like a Dutchess or something, strutted through the bolts of fabric and selected several appropriate ones and then through the different cuts and styles of robes to select several of them. Harry could only shrug and chuckle in helpless affection as his dear lady got measured and had her clothes made up for her. He had, while Carla was busy admiring the set of sky-blue and white robes in the mirror, ordered a pair of Hogwarts uniforms in her size.

They were what he handed to her now. Her eyes widened in astonishment before she quickly threw them on, smiling tearfully up at him.

Erza hooted sadly, looking as if she felt left out.

"I'm sorry, Erza-hon," Harry told her, kneeling down to stroke her breast through the bars, "If you got clothes, it would mess up your flying." She stared up at him with unhappy golden eyes before Harry requipped one of his bandannas, it was green and chequered, it actually looked like a strip stolen from Wendy's dress, complete with pale blue-white embroidery in ivy patterns along the edges. He unlocked the cage and fed it through, tying it around her throat like a scarf. "There, that shouldn't get in the way of your flying, huh? What do you think?" he asked, looking between his favourite girls in the world.

"She looks very pretty," Carla observed before nodding regally, "We should get her several more," she decided firmly. Erza shrieked in agreement, already fussing with her scarf to get it to lie like she wanted.

Harry could only laugh, "As always, my ladies, your wish is my command." He ducked into a bow from where he was sat on the platform floor, "Let's go get some seats. Carla, my dear, lead the way, if you please!"

He lazily Requipped into his uniform before picking up Erza's cage and following after his partner as they made their way towards the train. While no one had spotted or even observed their little moment beforehand, plenty of people stopped and stared as a cat wearing a Hogwarts uniform and walking on her hind-legs strutted past them, a boy trailing after her with a mirthful grin on his face and a very smug snowy owl with a green scarf followed. They got a compartment in the middle of the train, where Harry settled Erza down on one of the seats next to Carla, and then Requipped his trunk into the luggage rack.

"Looks like we'll be in for a wait," he observed, checking his pocket watch, it was a wind-up one that Professor McGonagall recommended when they were in the alley – he had the Fairy Tail insignia embossed on the cover, and inside a small inscription.

"_If you don't want to lose to anyone, then you must know your own weaknesses first._

_And _always_ have kindness."_

It wasn't even 10 o'clock yet, they had another hour to wait before the train would depart.

"What do you want to read?" he asked, looking at Carla.

She hummed, "A Transfiguration text. I think I almost have an understanding of how to perform Aera. I just need to further my exploration into the transformation properties," she declared, holding out a tiny white paw.

Harry closed his eyes and ran through his mental library, yes, he knew the one she meant. He Requipped it to hand along with another one of Magical Theory and a biology text on birds. "Here, these may also help, supplemental reading," he said, catching the look on her face.

"Ahh, thank you very much, Harry."

Grinning, he jumped out of the compartment, Requipping a magic camera to hand as he darted off to take pictures. He would share them with Dudley when he wrote home – well, when he knew Dudley was safe at Smeltings. If he sent his cousin any mail before he went off on the sixteenth, then Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were more likely to strangle Erza and throw the letters into the shredder. He also cheekily took a picture of Carla and Erza, the feline in the middle of teaching the owl how to read from the book. It was an adorable sight.

He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised when he got several people peering into his compartment before moving on, they weren't looking at the empty seats though, they were looking at him – or more specifically, his forehead. Harry Potter hunters. The Dragon Slayer shared a secretive grin with Carla and Erza as he curled up on his seat with the latest Fairy Tail volume, number 28 – it came out on the 17th but Harry had purposefully packed it away for the trip to Hogwarts. He knew he would end up rereading it several times, and then spending several hours just jotting down his ideas and concepts for the various magics he had encountered within the comic. (He had an entire notebook dedicated to the so called Fairy Tail magics, specifically, Fairy Law, the newly mentioned Fairy Glitter, something that had not been demonstrated yet in the manga, or even addressed beyond Master Makarov's evil son's mutterings, Lumen Histoire.

He was pretty oblivious to the people who appeared briefly in the doorway to gawp at his forehead, only to leave in disappointment when they came to the realisation that he wasn't 'The Boy Who Lived with a Lightning Bolt scar'.

"Excuse me, may I – oh hello Harry!" exclaimed a familiar girl's voice.

He looked up and grinned, Requipping his manga away when he spotted Hermione and a rather shy looking overweight boy behind her. "Hi Hermione, lemme give you a hand," he offered grabbing her trunk and lifting it with ease into the luggage racks overhead.

"Wow, you're surprisingly strong!" she exclaimed in shock before sitting herself down on the seat opposite him. "This is Neville Longbottom. I met him just outside looking for a compartment. Neville, this is my friend Harry, I met him at Diagon Alley during the summer," the brunette introduced cheerfully.

"Nice to meet you, Neville, lemme take your trunk," Harry told him, not waiting for a reply before hefting the weighty object up and into the racks. "Let me introduce my two favourite girls in the world, this is Carla, and Erza," he introduced as he sat down.

There was an odd expression on the other children's faces before Carla looked up and nodded her head, "A pleasure to meet you," she said, making Hermione gasp in excitement and Neville splutter in shock.

"Th-that should-shouldn't be possible!" the boy stuttered, "C-cats can't talk, even with magic!"

Carla sniffed, "Most cats can't talk," she corrected primly, flicking imaginary dust from her robes, "As I am a cat, and thus quite capable of speaking and even reading, the logical assumption would be that only _most_ cats are incapable of speech. That, or I am not a cat. However, there is clear photographic evidence of my birth origins, rendering that theory defunct," she continued at length, her eyes closing scornfully as she dictated to them.

Neville was leaning as far away from her in his seat as possible, his eyes positively bugging out with shock and confusion and anxiousness. Hermione on the other hand was enamoured, and shocked, her eyes equally wide, and her mouth open a little with disbelief.

Harry meanwhile was leaning back in his seat with a shit-eating grin of fond amusement, "Now, now, my lady," he scolded as he rubbed a hand against her ears. "They didn't know, there's no need to be rude," he told her with a chuckle.

Carla sniffed, relaxing from her prim posture and nodded reluctantly, "I... suppose so," she agreed before looking to them, "Is a speaking cat really so unusual? I was under the impression that other creatures were quite capable of human vernacular. The Jarvey for instance. Centaurs, Merfolk, even the Sphinx and the Manticore. Am I wrong?"

Hermione turned to him, "Is Er-um-your Owl able to talk?" she asked excitedly, even as Neville stuttered out an answer to Carla's questions.

Harry laughed and shook his head, "No, I got Erza as a birthday present last month. I haven't had a chance to teach her," he explained, smiling over at the snowy who ruffled her feathers importantly and bobbed in place with a hoot of agreement. "No worries, hon, you'll pick it up in no time. Both Carla and I will teach you," he assured the owl with a grin.

"You treat them like people," Hermione observed and Harry shrugged with a friendly smile.

"They're nakama. They're smart, they have feelings, they can think, why shouldn't I treat them like people?" He laughed then at the stares he got from both Hermione and Neville. Carla sniffed and gave him a side-glance full of affection.

"Idiot," she told him fondly.

He leaned over and nuzzled the side of her head, "Your idiot," he retorted.

She laughed and hugged his head, "Aye. My idiot."

_**000**_

About an hour after the train set off, Neville started panicking about his toad, Trevor, going missing.

"Okay, let's go look for him!" Harry exclaimed, jumping to his feet with a grin, "It'll be an adventure, yeah? You two go that way, me and Carla will go this way? Erza-hon, can you watch the compartment for us?" he asked turning and letting the snowy out of her cage.

She hooted and bobbed up and down, making herself comfortable on the railings of the luggage rack to oversee the compartment.

"Thanks, Sweetheart!" Harry called to her as they split-up, Harry heading towards the back of the train, Hermione towards the front.

He checked the first compartment on the right, knocking before poking his head in, "Sorry to disturb gentlemen, ladies, friend of mine mislaid his toad. Has anyone spotted it? Little brown and green chap, about the size of the palm of my hand," he described showing a tiny, work roughened palm to them.

"No, sorry," the nearest girl, wearing a Ravenclaw blue robe, said.

"Ah, okay, thank you for your time!" he chirped before sliding the door shut behind him and repeating the cycle all over again in the next compartment. He had to flatten himself against a few of the walls as students ran up and down laughing and shouting at one another, Harry could only grin to himself while Carla huffed and muttered about ruffians under her breath from where she was perched on his shoulder.

A few of the compartments were locked, which were a pain, but Harry decided he would check those when he was on his way back and carried on. The Upper Years were probably in them, he would check everywhere before disturbing them – experience dictated that teenagers didn't like to be disturbed by kids.

He grinned, spotting a familiar flash of blond up ahead, "Heeeey! Draco!" he called, breaking into a jog as he slipped past the larger boys flanking him to slam a hug around his first magical friend.

"Gah! Ha-Harry! Let me go!" the blond exclaimed blushing horribly and trying to pry his arms off.

Harry positively cackled, "Hell no! It's been almost a month since I last saw you!" he pointed out before a hand planted itself firmly in the scruff of his neck and pried him away from his friend. Carla yelped in displeasure.

"Put us down, you barbarian!" she snapped, glaring at the boy with the pudding bowl cut hair, "How rude! Do you normally man-handle those around you?!" she demanded furiously, utterly ignorant to the pauses of shock and disbelief on all present as she scolded the larger boy.

Harry chuckled, "To be fair, we did hug Draco first. That could be considered man-handling," he pointed out.

She sniffed, "A hug is a gesture of affection and friendship, _grabbing_ at someone is crude and uncivilised!" she retorted sharply, "You shouldn't be so easy going about these things, Harry!" she reprimanded while the green eyed boy merely chuckled in agreement.

"Y-your cat talks," Draco observed in dull shock.

Harry grinned, "I told you, Dragon-Boy," he quipped, "Magic isn't a miracle. Carla worked hard to learn how to speak and read," he declared with an affectionate smile toward her. He then turned to the flabbergasted red head in the compartment, "Sorry, about interrupting your conversation!" he chirped.

Draco scoffed irritably, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him away, "We were just leaving. Goyle, close the door," he barked as he began to drag Harry to his compartment further down the train.

Whatever the red head tried to say in reply was lost.

"I'm sorry I couldn't stop and chat last time," the blond finally said once they got back to his compartment. Harry grinned and leaned back, arms behind his head.

"No problem. Your father looked like he was in a hurry so I completely understand. I think I saw your mother too, she's pretty, looks a bit like you," he added with a grin, chuckling a little when he saw the blond's cheeks go pink in pleasure. "This is Carla by the way. Carla, this is Draco, he's the first friend I made in the magical world," he said cheerily to the white cat.

She sniffed and bowed her head, "It is a pleasure to meet you Draco. Any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine," she stated primly.

The blond however, was staring at Harry as if he couldn't quite work something out, "You... I'm your _first_ friend in the magical world?" he echoed, sounding as if he didn't know how to feel.

Harry grinned, "Yup."

"B-but how did you, how did you know – that thing you said back in the shop!" he exclaimed in confusion.

Harry laughed, "I've been learning and figuring magic out for years, but I didn't know that there was anyone else like me until my birthday last month. I lived with Civili- ah, you guys call them Muggles. My Aunt and Uncle did everything they could to hide magic from me, they knew because my parents had magic and I got put with them after their death," he explained easily as he grinned. "So, aren't you going to introduce me to your friends? I'm Harry by the way, nice to meet you," he continued, grinning at the two hulking boys in the doorway.

Draco seemed to have relaxed and was smiling fairly easily, "This is Vincent Crabbe," the boy with the pudding cut dark hair, "And Gregory Goyle. Our fathers have been allies for many generations. It's common practice for the Crabbes and the Goyles to work as retainers and bodyguards. In exchange, the Malfoy family offer financial support and aid in education and academics," he explained.

"We're not good at school," Vincent admitted quietly, he had a surprisingly soft, almost feminine voice.

Harry grinned, "It's okay. A lot of people don't. Anyway, it was nice meeting you guys. I'll see you later. Right now, I'm helping someone look for a toad. I'll pop in later once I find it, yeah?" he suggested, grinning at them.

Draco sneered a little, "Eugh, toads," he complained.

Harry laughed again, "True enough, but he's someone's precious pet. You or I may not like it, but to him, that toad is very important," he pointed out before leaving with a cheery 'see ya'.

Eventually, he did manage to find Trevor the Toad – hiding under the sink in the boy's bathroom.

_**000**_

**And that's the Hogwarts Express over with! Ta'dah!**

**Draco has no idea who Harry is, he's just assuming that he's another baby who got named after the Boy Who Lived – I imagine it happens a lot, but it hasn't yet twigged to him that he's the wrong age. Oh well. He'll learn the truth in due time. XDDD**

**Next chapter...** The Sorting.


	8. Chapter 8

**Fairy Tail**

_**000**_

When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!"

_No pairing._

_**000**_

**Chapter Eight**

It was dark by the time they debarked from the train. Distantly, Harry could make out the silhouette of mountains in the distance, a carpet of trees, and the faint glimmer of a lake reflecting the deep-purple sky. Harry had been told to put Erza back in her cage, so he had done as such, he had also been told to leave Carla behind – but try getting her to do as she was told. Stubbornly, she had followed after him as they jumped off, shivering in the night air.

"Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!" a loud booming voice called, a bobbing lantern stood to one side.

Harry grinned at both Hermione and Neville, grabbing their wrists and dragging them towards the light in excitement. He could see Draco's blond hair glint in the light, and a shock of flaming red that belonged to the boy in the cabin he had rudely interrupted earlier. He didn't even twitch as Carla jumped and landed claws first on the back of his thigh and then proceeded to climb all the way to his shoulder, where she sat herself down and glared at anyone who dared to try and make an issue out of her presence.

"C'mon, follow me – any more firs'years? Mind yer step, now! Firs'-years follow me!" the voice continued to shout, Harry's eyed widening as he stared up at the biggest person he had ever seen in his life. Big and hairy. With a wild tangle of hair and a great-big bushy beard. He would have looked rather ferocious, if it hadn't been for the friendly dark eyes crinkling in delight at the little children who clustered around him seeking shelter from the dark and the cold he would have been a little scared. Harry decided then and there that he liked this man, who ever he was. Slipping and stumbling, they staggered after the big man down what seemed to be a very steep and narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that he guessed they must have been walking down a forest path, the smell of tree-bark and the sound of leaves shifting overhead only confirmed it.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," the man called over his shoulder, grinning under his wiry face-badger – it really was an impressive beard, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud 'Ooooooh!' that even Harry himself was guilty of as he stared up at the magnificent structure in front of them.

The narrow path had opened out onto the edge of a great black lake, the same glimmering lake he had glimpsed between the trees earlier on the platform. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows glowing golden and its walls shimmering pale, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers, each jutting proudly up into the sky as if to wrend the clouds themselves with its spires.

"No more'n four to a boat!" the big man shouted, climbing into a tiny little row-boat that didn't have any oars down at the shore.

Harry eagerly rushed forward, Hermione and Neville exchanging uncertain glances before following after him. They were joined by a dark skinned boy with sad eyes.

"Hi, I'm Harry," the green eyed boy immediately greeted, making the dark skinned boy blink, taken aback. "This is Carla, Neville, and Hermione. What's your name?" he asked cheerfully.

"B-Blaise," he admitted awkwardly.

"Nice to meet you," Carla greeted, her words echoed by everyone in the boat while Blaise stared at her in slack-jawed disbelief. Harry was beginning to get the impression that his cat was taking reluctant pleasure in shocking people. Well, she always was quick to reverse her opinions on some matters.

"Everyone in? Right then – FORWARD!"

Carla squeaked as the boat gave a small lurch, Harry cackled as the fleet of little boats moved off all together, gliding smoothly across the dark lake – not even leaving a ripple with their passing. Disappointingly, everyone was silent and busy staring up at the castle overhead, Harry was the same, but he also had his head on a swivel looking around for any glimpse of their surroundings, to no avail. It was just too dark.

"Heads down!" the big man called as they sailed into a cavern, Harry didn't bother – it was too big to even touch them. A person the big man's height would have to duck, but they were okay, they didn't need to. Well, unless they didn't want to get smacked in the face with streams of ivy, Harry just pushed them out of the way so he could keep looking around.

They were carried along a dark tunnel that took them right underneath the castle, it looked almost natural with the rough hewn walls, but the occasional carved out pillar here and there dissuaded that assumption. Along with the appearance of a strange little underground harbour, flaming torches illuminating stone rocks and pebbles, which Harry very nearly slipped on as they climbed out.

The group trotted after the big man after he had finished checking the boats, he lead them up a rather steep passageway in the rock that eventually levelled out onto smooth damp crass, right in the shadow of the castle with her gleaming golden lit windows. It looked even more impressive up close, Harry concluded as he eyed the proud spires that silhouetted against the deep purple sky like dark fangs. Hermione gave him a small push and they were off again, climbing a broad set of pale yellow (sandstone?) steps up to a large heavy oak door. Double doors, old and weather beaten with black scars here and there in the aged wood, black iron bolts and hinges and a large set of black iron knockers, hanging from the jaws of a lion, above the head of a badger, the wings of a raven spread over them while a snake circled them all. Harry had to bite his tongue to silence his exclamation of awe. That was cool.

"Everyone here?" the big man asked, glancing over them and seeming to perform a perfunctory headcount with his eyes, he was quick about it, those beady eyes moving swiftly over their little faces. They must have positively gleamed in the light from his lantern – the whites of their eyes at least, Blaise could have very well melted into the darkness with the polished ebony shade of his skin. Harry found himself mildly jealous. Blaise would have made an _awesome_ Ninja.

Deciding that everyone was present, the big man turned and knocked three times on the castle door, he didn't bother with the knocker to Harry's disappointment – he wondered if any of the wrought iron figures would talk, that's what they usually did in the childrens' films, right? Dudley told him.

There wasn't much time for disappointment though as the door was snapped open abruptly, flooding the group of eleven year olds with bright torch and candle light. A very familiar woman highlighted by the glow, eyeing them sternly wearing emerald green robes and a pointed hat with thistles braided around the brim. They really rather suited the Professor, Harry decided, tilting his head and grinning at her.

"The firs'-years, Professor McGonagall," said the big man.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here," she told the larger man who stepped to the side, even as she pulled the door open wide, allowing the group of children to follow after her. She very pointedly didn't pay attention to him, which was alright, she had to be impartial and fair to all the students, that was fine.

The Entrance Hall though, that was something else. Easily large enough to engulf the entirety of the Dursley's detached four bedroom house, more than once over, it had to be at least three times taller as he couldn't see the ceiling no matter how hard he squinted, pale yellow stone walls lined with flaming torches in metal brackets like the ones at Gringotts. A beautiful marble staircase to the left lead upwards, a pair of gleaming suits of armour flanking it, and two plain wooden doors on either side. In front of them was a second set of huge double oak doors, the same style as the set outside, and on their right was a set of stone steps that seemed darker than the marble ones that went up, these ones went down. It was not flanked by any suits of armour and there was only one wooden door which they were ushered into by Professor McGonagall.

It was a small anti-chamber, nothing special, high windows, torches, and a single door – the one they just came through. They all clustered together in the room, in rather a tighter knit group than they would have otherwise and watched the Professor nervously.

She overlooked them all briefly, waiting until their eyes had stopped wondering and were fixed upon her as she stood in front of their only exit. "Welcome to Hogwarts," she finally announced. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses." Harry grinned, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet with excitement, her eyes momentarily flicked to him before returning to their general roaming over the new students. "The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts, you will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points." At this point, Harry had to offer Hufflepuff his apologies, he was likely going to lose them a few points, in true Fairy Tail fashion. He hoped they forgave him. "At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak – which was fastened under his ear, and on the red headed boy from when Harry saw Draco on the train, he had a soot smudge on his nose he noticed. "I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber then and Harry immediately turned to Neville, tugging his cloak back into place as his hands were shaking too much to do much of anything right now. He looked terrified. Hermione wasn't helping very much while she muttered every spell she knew very quickly under her breath and theorised which ones she would need, murmuring in aggravation that she wished her Defence books actually had a Spell Index so she could properly reference them. Harry had noticed that too, none of their books had an Index. And it was very rare that they would discover a table of contents. Most of the time, they were forced to muddle along with page numbers. Only the potions texts had any kind of structure to their layout.

Never the less, Harry reached out and caught the girl's hand, startling her out of her muttering. "Hermione, calm down. They wouldn't be testing any of us on magic yet. A lot of people only just found out about magic last month. It wouldn't be fair to test them on something they had been exposed to for such a short time. It would be like handing a science test to one of the magical born children and expecting them to pass," he pointed out soothingly, giving her hand a small squeeze.

"B-but, it never said. Hogwarts: A History never said what the sorting was!" she half moaned half hissed.

Harry chuckled, letting her hand go, "Yeah. Professor McGonagall didn't tell me when I asked her either. Said it was a surprise."

"S-s-surprise?" Neville squeaked, his eyes flicking to the red head who was looking increasingly green. "S-s-so th-there _might_ be a T-t-Troll?"

Harry hummed thoughtfully, "They said it was happening in front of all the other students. I doubt they would be so reckless to bring such a dangerous creature into a school. If they did, don't worry, I won't let it hurt you, Nev," he declared cheerfully, patting his friend on the back. The chubby boy smiled, his cheeks going a little pink with embarrassment and relief, though he did look more than a little doubtful, he let it slide, Neville didn't know what he was capable of yet. Harry was just glad to see his shaking come to a stop.

Then several people screamed in shock, causing him to whip around and Neville to latch onto his robes with a fearful squeak.

He however, gaped. Unable to understand what he was seeing.

"Are... are those ghosts?" he asked dully. Too surprised to even muster up any disbelief.

"Y-yeah," Neville mumbled, his grip loosening. "Gran told me about them. Apparently they do this every year. It's their way of introducing themselves to the muggleborn without causing a scene in the Great Hall where the senior students can tease them for it," he muttered quietly, the two of them watching as the Ghosts had their very obvious and loud conversation above their heads – pretending they didn't know the first years were present as they argued over this 'Peeves' character, who was clearly a troublemaker and someone they were very subtly being advised to avoid. Still, ghosts must have been fairly rare, or at least unusual, because even the magically raised like Draco and his friends were looking uncomfortable and alarmed at the appearance of the pearly apparitions.

"Move along now," commanded a sharp voice once the ghosts had 'noticed' them, Professor McGonagall stood beside the open chamber door, "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall. "Now, form a line, and follow me."

He shivered with anticipation, falling into place beside the red headed boy, Neville right behind him with Hermione. Carla held comfortably in his arms where she wasn't readily visible, she had given a passing thought to demanding a sorting of her own, but decided against it – what if she was put into a different house to Harry? No, that would be unacceptable. Harry was her partner, she would protect him to the best of her ability, and he would protect her as well. He had given her everything, a name, the ability to speak, to think, to read... without him she would have just been an unusually intelligent cat. He was the one who believed in her, who taught her, who never thought she was anything but extraordinary and amazing, who was so patient and loving with her. No, being separated from him would be torture. It would be so lonely that it terrified her just to think about being pulled away.

The double line of students made their way out of the chamber, and across the hall to the double doors, which were now open, revealing a sea of black school robes and candle-light. It was so different from anything Harry had been expecting.

Thousands and thousands of candles floated in mid-air above the heads of students. Four long tables stretching out in front of them lined with students in uniforms occasionally dotted with the pearly glowing forms of the ghosts, gold table wear, candle holders, platters, knives and forks, plates and goblets, all catching the light and flashing it back. Not a single spot of tarnish to mar them. At the far end of the hall, a table set horizontally to the students, distinguished figures in robes of varying colours and cuts, clearly the Professors, in front of them on a small clear space was a three legged stool, and a rather ratty looking hat. Above their heads, a perfect scene, an illusion, of the night sky over head. Harry gave Carla a small squeeze and gestured upward, his cat gasping a little in shock when she too saw the sky.

"Never have to worry about the weather forecast," she muttered softly and Harry grinned. Very true. He was going to have to dig out a book on cloud and weather patterns so he could figure out how to foretell the weather, that would be cool. Just look up at the sky and tell the Quidditch Players that it was going to rain later so they should wear a waterproof. He could hear Hermione muttering about the ceiling to Neville.

They came to a stop in front of the hat.

A hat, that _moved_. Carla's claws dug into his forearms and Harry subtly shifted a foot back, ready to act if it attacked – he did promise he would protect Neville, and it didn't look like any of the other students here knew how to fight, Vincent and Gregory excluded.

And it started to sing.

"Oh my god!" Carla hissed. Harry smiled a little helplessly as he stroked her, trying to sooth his own frazzled nerves as he relaxed. A singing hat. Heh... An animated hat... Maybe like Bixlow's human possession techniques? The song suggested that the hat was _very_ old though, a lost magic?

The whole hall burst into applause and the red head muttered something about killing 'Fred' for telling him he had to wrestle a Troll, so that was where the rumour came from. Harry turned and gave Neville a thumbs up, the boy looking much more comfortable and relieved that there wouldn't be a fight. He smiled a little weakly at Harry before blanching again and gesturing at him to turn around.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," Professor McGonagall declared, a roll of parchment dangling from her fingers and the hat from her other hand. Harry hastily faced the front and straightened up, "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink faced girl with blonde pigtails staggered out of the line, shaking a little as she tottered to the front.

Harry hugged Carla a little more firmly to his chest, "It's okay, Harry. You'll do fine. It's just a hat," she told him soothingly reaching up and patting his cheek.

"I know," he grinned down at her.

"HUFFLEPUFF!" The table of black and yellow badgers burst into applause.

"I'm just a little nervous about where I'll go. I mean, I _want_ to go to Hufflepuff, but even I know I can be a conniving little shit sometimes. I could be in Slytherin. Or even Ravenclaw, I do love books," he pointed out as a red haired girl made her way out of their group at the call of 'Bones, Susan', and ended up in the same house as Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

Carla hummed, "Would it matter either way, if you ended up there instead of where you wanted?" she asked curiously.

Harry shook his head, "I suppose not. But being around like-minded people would be rather nice for once, wouldn't you say?" he asked with a small grin. As Brocklehurst, Mandy became the second Ravenclaw.

"Brown, Lavender!"

"GRYFFINDOR!"

And that was the end of that. The pair of them watched in silence as Bulstrode Millicent became the first of the Slytherins. Hufflepuff got another new student in Justin Finch-Fletchly. Gryffindor got Seamus Finnigan, the blond boy who was in front of him. And then Hermione's name was called and he had to shift aside pretty quickly as she almost ran to the Sorting Hat.

"Someone's eager," Carla muttered. "Three sickles on Ravenclaw," she decided.

Harry snorted, "No bet. That's a give'un," he stated bluntly, unable to picture his friend go anywhere else but the house of the intellectually obsessed.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat bellowed after a bit, taking them all by surprise. Well, that taught them for making assumptions. She must have just been braver than she was intelligent – which was really fucking scary now that Harry gave that some thought. He had _seen_ the number of books that girl bought the first time they met, her father even sobbed a little as he checked his wallet, muttering about having to visit the bank before they could go to any of the other shops following that excursion.

Neville was called up next and Harry thumped him on the back, whispering good luck as he stumbled to the front, looking terrified. It took quite some time under the hat before...

"GRYFFINDOR!" was bellowed.

Harry had to laugh along with everyone else when, in relief, Neville forgot to give the hat back and stumbled off to Gryffindor – only to have to turn around and bring it back so Morag MacDougal could be sorted into Ravenclaw. Draco ended up in Slytherin along with Vincent and Gregory, so at least he would have some friends if he ended up there.

Moon went to Ravenclaw, Nott to Slytherin, Parkinson to Slytherin, Padma Patil to Ravenclaw while her twin sister Pavarti Patil went to Gryffindor, Perks went to Ravenclaw and then...

"Potter, Harry!"

"Show time," he muttered, letting Carla down – she quickly hid herself under the nearest table as he stepped forward, trying not to wince as whispers suddenly broke out across the hall and students craned their necks trying to get a glimpse of him. He very nearly snickered when he heard some people attaching '_The_' in front of his name, oh dear, he had a reputation that he hadn't yet earned. Well, given time they would ignore it. He was just another student after all, dead parents or not. There was a loud voice who yelped about how his scar was missing, much to his amusement – as if he would come with it bared to all and sundry, did he look like an attention seeking moron?

The last thing he saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was Carla peering out anxiously under the nearest table, her golden eyes worried. Then there was just the thick dark weave of the dirty hat and a curiously muffled silence. Idly, he wondered how often this thing was spelled against head-lice.

A chuckle tickled the side of his ear, "You have no need to worry about head-lice, Mr Potter," a voice told him, making him tense horribly as flashes of Zeref's Living Magic filled his mind. "Calm yourself Mr Potter, you will find that magic here in Hogwarts is not the same as within your books. Though, may I say, I much rather prefer your manner of things to ours. Most ingenious. But never the less, onto the Sorting. You're quite the difficult nut to crack, you know.

"Plenty of courage. You're much more mature than your year mates in that you know and understand true courage. Such a drive you possess as well, ambition to prove yourself to start something and to live, oh my. Well, I must agree with you, Mr Potter, you would do well in Hufflepuff. Already I can see that you hold their values in very high-esteem. Your loyalty when you give it is truly a wondrous thing to behold, Helga would have been proud to have you in her house.

"However... your determination, your drive, the steadfast upholding of your ideals and unbending moral core. Hufflepuff would have suited you well, my boy, but you would not have suited them. Better be – GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry pouted as the hat shouted, "Aww, but I wanted Hufflepuff," he complained as Professor McGonagall jerked the hat off his head, the Gryffindor table exploded into cheering and he could only smile a little sheepishly, waving at them as he made his way over. He glanced over apologetically to Draco who looked as if someone had bludgeoned him, his eyes large and fixed on Harry as if he didn't know what to think.

A pair of red headed twins were cheering and dancing chanting "We got Potter! We got Potter!" at the top of their lungs. Then another red head actually got up and tried to grab his hand, shaking it rigorously and declaring how much of an honour it was to have him in their house – Harry tried to pull his hand away as politely as possible, but he wasn't quite keen on letting go. He had to tug his hand back pretty hard, smiling a little uncomfortably as he quickly made his way to where Neville and Hermione were sitting and taking refuge next to them.

"Why didn't you tell us?" was immediately out of Hermione's mouth as she glowered at him from across the table.

Harry grinned at her, feeling Carla's claws on his leg as she climbed her way up into his lap, "Because I wanted you to be friends with Harry, not the Boy Who Lived," he stated, making her blink and her facial expression soften in understanding. "Plus, I didn't even know about this whole Boy Who Lived thing until last month. I'd always been told my parents died in a drink-driving accident by my Aunt," he admitted before going quiet so the rest of the first years could be sorted.

Lisa Turpin became a Ravenclaw, the red head, Ron Weasley, became a Gryffindor – the red head who didn't want to let go of his hand earlier pompously congratulating him, they must have been siblings, they had the same nose. And then Blaise, whose last name was Zabini, ended up in Slytherin.

Professor McGonagall rolled her her parchment, collected the Sorting Hat and stool and moved off to the side.

That was when the man at the middle of the Professors' table stood up, he was tall, with a long crooked nose that looked like it had been broken and not reset properly, his beard was long enough to tuck into his belt and he was beaming at them from over the rim of his half-moon spectacles as if nothing filled him with more pleasure than to see them all in front of him. His eyes were even twinkling. He kind of felt like a more responsible, if dottery, and tall Makarov.

"Welcome!" he called, "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

And then he sat down amidst applause and cheering, and a fair bit of laughter. Harry could only snicker while Carla huffed in disapproval.

"Hardly very professional," she declared, making Neville and Hermione glance her way.

Harry hummed, "He's a teacher. He's got to connect to the students. Best way is to be funny. He can afford to be nicer than the Professors because he doesn't have to directly exert any authority onto us, they do."

Hermione sniffed, "Well, Carla has a point though. That wasn't very dignified of him. I mean, what on earth do those words even mean?" she huffed, scowling at the magically appearing food in front of them as she aggressively ladled out some roast potatoes and peas onto her plate.

"Gran says he's a little mad. Genius, but nuttier than a tree full of squirrels," Neville piped up, sounding a little guilty for repeating it as he carefully spooned out a small dollop of horse-radish sauce onto his plate.

"Fine line between genius and madness," Harry quoted as he reached for the lamb cutlets, his mouth watering in anticipation. He had managed to fish a few scraps of lamb out of the fridge at the Dursleys a few times in his life, oh god it tasted so good. They didn't have it often because Vernon preferred beef, and even if he knew Petunia liked lamb as much as he did, she would always pander to her husband and son before herself and Harry – when he was younger he thought it was one of the very few good points to her, now though, he rather sinkingly wondered if it was to prevent Vernon from turning his horrible temper onto her. Living under the same roof as a man who had no problem with striking a defenceless child, even if they were a freak, must have been somewhat scary for her – after all, what was stopping him from turning that horrible temper onto her? Dudley at least was safe by virtue of being his own flesh and blood.

They had a moment where they were introduced to the Gryffindor House ghost, 'Nearly Headless Nick', who seemed rather irritated with the name the students had bestowed him. Harry made a mental note just to call him Nicolas, it would be less insulting than anything else.

Conversation eventually turned to families as the mains faded away to make space for desserts. Harry had crammed as much lamb and mint-sauce down his neck as possible, he didn't think he had enough room for a proper dessert so settled instead for a bowl of icecream, Carla sat contentedly using a napkin to wipe her paws clean of grease – she had been given a porkchop which she thoroughly enjoyed.

"I'm half and half," Seamus explained, "Me dad's a Muggle. Mam didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him." The others laughed with the exception of Harry who cringed a little.

"You're really lucky, that could have gotten pretty nasty. Your Dad's a good man," he said, stopping the laughter almost immediately. Seamus paused, looking surprised before he realised just what Harry had insinuated and blanched a little with realisation.

"Yeah. I've never really thought about it, but you're right," he agreed, looking a tad queasy.

The red head, Ron, turned to Neville in an attempt to diffuse the mood, "What about you, Neville?" he asked almost desperately.

"Well, my gran brought me up and she's a witch. But the family thought I was all Muggle for ages. My great-uncle Algie kept trying to catch me off my guard and force some magic out of me – he pushed me off the end of Blackpool pier once -

Harry dropped his spoon with a resounding clatter, "WHAT?!" he half yelped, half shouted, horrified. Hermione wasn't far off, her face chalk white – Dean Thomas, the other muggleborn in their group, looked equally horrified. "He shoved you off Blackpool Pier?! Please tell me you're joking Nev, are you alright? Was he arrested, please tell me he was arrested!" Harry exclaimed.

He shook his head, leaning away from Harry, "N-no. I n-nearly drowned but I'm okay now! Honest! A few years later we found out I had magic when he dropped me out of the second floor window. I bounced all the way down the garden and into the road," he bragged a little proudly, ignorant to the looks of mounting horror on Harry and Hermione's faces.

The two exchanged looks, Hermione nearly in tears while Harry was growing more and more furious with this 'Great Uncle Algie'. He got to his feet, and immediately made for the Head Table only to have Hermione lean across the table and grab his sleeve – almost putting her hand in a bowl of trifle by accident.

"Harry, you can't! Not right now! Think about Neville's feelings!" she hissed.

The Gryffindor paused, staring her down. Everything within him told him to go and inform one of the teachers so this could be sorted, so Neville would never have to go back to that _woman_'s house. But... Hermione was right. The Great Hall wasn't the place for it. Tomorrow morning he would get an upper-year to take him to her office.

He sat back down, "Alright," he grumbled.

Either way, he wasn't going to let Neville go back to that kind of environment. Not without a damn hard fight.

_**000**_

**This chapter was pretty hard for me. Mainly because I can't see how Harry wouldn't had reacted like that when getting told that a friend's family tried to kill him in order to get him to show magic. In canon, Harry had always been treated badly, it didn't really twig for him. In this, Harry knows how he was treated was wrong, and he's a lot more tuned into his surroundings. So he noticed. And he cared.**

**But his high-handedness may lose him a friend, kind of a bit like how Hermione's cost her Harry and Ron's in third year. Which is why this chapter was so hard. Because I love Neville and I want him to be Harry's friend – but he can be hella stubborn when he wants to be. Originally I had Harry going over and telling Professor McGonagall and having Neville be beyond upset with him, but Hermione is much more level headed and would have stopped him.**

I return to University tomorrow, so if Updates become a little less reliable, I apologise. It's my third year and they're really cramming the timetable 9am start 8pm finish.


	9. Chapter 9

**Fairy Tail**

_**000**_

When Dudley throws a book at his cousin's head, no one could have known the revolution it would spark in the years to come. "I want to start my own Guild! My own family!"

_No pairing._

_**000**_

**Chapter Nine**

Neville was almost beside himself when they got back to the dormitory, the moment the door swung shut he burst out into tears and started begging Harry not to say anything. It wasn't a big deal! This sort of thing happened all the time! And he had no where else to go! Please, please, please, he didn't want to leave his Gran! It wasn't her fault! Harry felt utterly wretched, guilt practically eating him alive.

Then Ron piped up from the other side of the room, "Y'know, you're kinda making this too big of a deal," he pointed out from his bed, looking uncomfortable. "Me Mum's wholloped me and my brothers loads of times with broomsticks, cauldrons, spoons and books. She even put a stinging-ward up on the Twins bedroom when they were grounded so they couldn't go inside, or go outside without her say so. They had to sit in the kitchen and do their homework, or tidy up around the house."

Harry whipped around and glared at him, "That isn't throwing them off a pier though! Or out of a window! What if Neville _hadn't_ been magical?! He could have died! Would have died! And how would they have reacted? They were willing to kill him to eek out a little magic from him! So if he didn't have any, then what? Huh?! No! No, no, _no!_" he shouted furiously before rounding on Neville, his face set, stubborn, even in the face of the brunet's tears. "I know you don't want me to, but that isn't right! You're my friend and I'm not going to stand back and let the people who hurt you get away with it, family or not!" he exclaimed furiously before nodding to himself and going to the door.

"Hey, where are you going?!" Seamus Finnigan squawked, having been watching the entire exchange along with Dean Thomas who had been nodding along to Harry seriously.

"To find that Prefect. I need to speak to Professor McGonagall. At least get someone from the hospital to check Neville over and make sure he _really_ is alright," he stated darkly before leaving the room.

Neville sobbed and hid behind his bed hangings, wailing into his pillow.

Ron exchanged uncomfortable looks with Seamus, the two of them unsure of how to act now. It didn't feel right to just leave Neville crying into his pillow. Dean sighed, pulling aside his bedding and getting to his feet – however, Carla, the white cat that they hadn't noticed until now was already marching across the floor, on her hind legs, which had everyone stopping and staring, not to mention the fact she was wearing a uniform.

"Neville? May I come in?" she asked, pulling at the curtain hangings.

Ron and Seamus both swore, while Dean grinned and exclaimed 'Cool!'. Neville's sobbing died down a little and the feline took that as acceptance before she climbed in through the bed hangings. She padded her way across the bedding and gently wiped away the boy's tears as she sat beside his head.

"W-why, I don – I don't want – want t-to," he spluttered through his tears, hiccuping miserably. "Th-they not that-that bad," he choked out, "It's not their fault. I'm-I'm just – I'm lazy, and I'm stupid, and – and I can't-can't do magic right. Th-they had-had to do it o-oo-or I-I-I," he broke down into sniffling hiccups and sobs, unable to speak further.

Carla sighed, "...You know... Harry used to think like that too..." she told him softly, "Used to think it was his fault. That they did those things because they had to," she explained, nails delicately raking through his hair, smoothing it back from his face. Watery chestnut brown eyes, red rimmed and puffy, peered up at her in confusion. "His family... they don't like magic. It frightens them. So... when he did magic, they would hurt him. Take his food away. Lock him in a small dark space. It wasn't... just the magic either. The things they said..." she trailed off and shook her head, still gently running her nails through the boy's hair. "Family can be the worst out there. They're supposed to support and love you. Encourage you. Disciplin you for wrong-doings and show you how to properly behave. But always... always they are to do so with kindness." Her mind cast back to the Fairy Tail books, and the relationships between the characters, and she smiled a little bitterly because she desperately wished that such a place really existed, existed so she could take Harry away to there, take Neville away to there as well.

"Siblings will fight. They will tease and torment. There will be friction and strife. Tears and pain. But at the end, your anger is their anger. Your happiness is their happiness. Your tears... are their tears. That's what family means. It is to love and support, despite all odds. To go through hell and back for them, to live with and to live _for_ them. To fight with all your strength and determination to live another day, another hour, another minute, just to be with them. To come home to them.

"When Harry accepted you as a friend, he made you a member of his family. And he will stand beside you come heaven or hell. And he won't ever... ever... let you live the life he used to," she explained as gently as possible, Neville sniffling as he sat up straight on his bed, pulling her into his lap. Harry had not been affectionate when he was younger, it had taken a lot of effort on hers, Mrs Figg's, and Miss Jane's part to open him up to hugging and affection. They would have to work on Neville as well, though he seemed comfortable enough with her.

How long ago... was it since he was last touched kindly? Since he didn't have to fear at the hands of his Uncle?

"But I... They weren't... that bad," he mumbled unhappily.

She caught his thumb between her paws, "Did you fear... when they reached for you?" she asked solemnly.

And Neville paused, mid-head shake because... he had.

Carla nodded, reading the stricken look on his face, "Did you wish... they would love you, instead of hurt you?" she asked, and Neville sobbed because he _had_ thought that, he thought that _every_ time when his Gran looked at him with that expression of disappointment on her face, whenever Uncle Algie and Aunt Enid sighed and patted him on the head, healing up his bruises and grazes and then left him to wipe his tears on the floor alone.

"Did you want... to disappear away from them?"

Neville began to cry in earnest now, curling up into a ball around the cat who wrapped her arms around his head and hugged him as tightly as she could. "Now you see... see why he can't leave you. Can't let you face this alone. We won't let you face this alone," she told him soothingly.

Neville cried himself to sleep before Harry got back to the dormitory.

_**000**_

The next morning, Harry woke him up early, looking apologetic but still determined as he cajoled him out of bed and into the showers to get ready for the day. It would take them a while to get to breakfast if they didn't get lost, plus, Hermione was already waiting for them downstairs. When Neville emerged from his shower, Harry was attempting to awaken the other Gryffindors, but only Dean Thomas was being particularly keen on getting up. Ron Weasley was still sawing logs, and Seamus Finnigan grunted and rolled over with a mumble of 'five more minutes'. Dean told him to let them sleep, they had been up pretty late last night. He didn't say anything, but Neville still flushed in shame when he realised it was his crying that kept them up.

Somewhen during the night, their uniforms had been 'updated'. The plain black robes with the Hogwarts crest were now trimmed in red and gold and bore the Gryffindor sigil on the breast. Even Carla's had been changed much to her pleasure. She tied a red bow around her tail and, following her example, Harry exchanged his green headscarf for a red one.

They met up with Hermione in the Common Room and all headed down to breakfast.

Without Carla, they would have gotten lost fairly quickly. She lead the way, following the scent of the older Gryffindors through the corridors and down the stairs. Neville made a mental note to stick with Carla whenever he left the Common Room because he still managed to get lost even in his own home at times.

After breakfast though, Neville hunched down in his seat as Professor McGonagall came over, looking very severe as she stared down at him. He felt Harry's hand creep into his under the table, giving it an encouraging squeeze. His mind went back to Carla's words the night before – they weren't going to let him face this alone.

"Mr Longbottom, if you would come with me?" she requested.

Neville nodded and got to his feet, Harry following suit. McGonagall paused, eyeing him, "Mr Potter - " she began only to have Harry shake his head.

"I'm coming too," he stated firmly, grabbing Neville's hand visibly in front of her, face set. "I'm not letting him face this alone."

She stared before sighing, her lips twitching, "Of course. This way, you two," she intoned, gesturing them onwards as she marched out of the Great Hall.

"See you in class, Hermione," Harry called. The brunette girl was smiling anxiously but nodding in relief as her gaze slid over to Neville. He wobbled a nervous smile in her direction as Harry pulled him out of the hall.

The two chased after the Deputy Headmistress and ended up in a large, sterile room that smelt of lemons, the Hospital Wing.

"Ah, Minerva! What seems to be the problem, an injury already?" a woman in a nurse's uniform bustled over, eyeing the two students expectantly.

"Just a check up, Poppy. There was a concerning talk last night and, well," the Professor trailed off and the nurse frowned darkly but nodded in understanding.

"Very well, which of you will I be checking then?" she asked, eyeing the pair of them.

Neville swallowed nervously, his grip on Harry's hand tightening even as his hand got sweaty and clammy.

"Both of us," Harry suddenly piped up. He then grinned, "I'll go first," he proclaimed, squeezing Neville's hand before letting go and stepping forwards.

Poppy eyed him for a moment before nodding, "Sit yourself down on the bed, Mr Potter," she told him before marching to the potions cabinet on the otherside of the room and returning with a pair of phials that looked like they had navy blue ink inside of them. "Drink this and then lay back," she told him, watching as he chugged down the phial with a grimace.

"Tastes like ink," he complained as he lay down.

The Nurse hummed in absent agreement as she flicked her wand over his body. In front of them, an illusion rose up from Harry's skin to hover above him, coloured lights began to fill it and Poppy nodded thoughtfully, and then angrily as she observed the way the lights filled his body.

"Well, Mr Potter... You are in... functioning health," she summed up grimly. "You have severe malnutricion, something we cannot correct aside from good meals. Brittle bones, which thankfully we can correct, though it will take a long time and a lot of potions. It will not be comfortable in the least. You have a severe vitamin and mineral deficiency and are very lucky not to have developed rickets or scurvey. I will have words with the House-elves about your diet, you'll be getting specialised meals until I'm happy with your state of health. You have a number of incorrectly healed fractures, and signs of severe bone-bruising in more than one location. Not to mention some organ bruising. I can see here that you were severely injure not too long ago, care to share?" she asked looking down at the boy sternly.

Harry laughed, "I got into a fight with a tree. The tree won."

Neville's lips twitched.

"The tree winning caused several eight-inch long stab wounds, and punctured your stomach. Thankfully it looks as though your stomach lining has healed nicely, those scars though, the tissue runs deep and you very nearly destroyed your small intestine with them. I'll see what potions we can cook up in regards to that. Your scar has traces of Dark Magic but that is to be expected. All in all, your health isn't the greatest, but you aren't in any immediate danger, Mr Potter. Though your nerve response is... off the scale," she observed, sounding amazed and slightly anxious. "You may find you have difficulties with concentration, if it becomes a problem, come to me and I'll see what potions we have to aid your concentration in the short term while we arrange for something else."

Harry nodded and sat up, the illusion above his head dispelling. "So that brittle bone thing... When can we start sorting that out?" he asked curiously.

Poppy smiled, "Next week at the earliest. I would need to order in a fair few specialist potions from St Mungo's and other locations. Professor Snape won't have the time to brew for me this week. Now," she turned to Neville, "Up onto the bed, Mr Longbottom."

Neville glanced over at Harry before doing as he was told, drinking the same ink-tasting potion, and watching as lights rose up from his scan. He felt a little warm and tingly on the inside but that was about it. The lights were quite pretty in all honesty.

"Mmmm, physically, you're in good health, Mr Longbottom. I'm seeing a large number of old injuries, some extensive damage to your lungs. Tell me, have you ever drowned?" she asked as she leaned over the images with a frown on her face. Neville blanched a little.

"Y-yes," he breathed.

"Mmm, well, your lungs are very weak. Am I right in assuming that extensive exercise causes you breathing difficulties, pain, and when startled you have a habit of hyperventilating, no?" the Nurse asked. Neville nodded, eyes panning to the side looking for Harry who was stood next to Professor McGonagall watching seriously. He was still there. "Well, we have a few potions that can manage that. Never fear. You may have to look into doing more exercise while taking them then, you need to strengthen them up and the best way is through hard work."

"He can practice with me," Harry piped up, "I learned a bit of hand-to-hand fighting when I was younger but never had anyone to practice with. Shadow boxing is pretty good, non-contact so he should be alright. And I go running too."

Poppy nodded, "That would be good, Mr Potter. But remember to keep it toned down in the beginning. Working Mr Longbottom's lungs too hard could be detrimental." The green eyed boy nodded firmly. Poppy nodded and returned to her scans, "You have extensive spell-damage to your head, Mr Longbottom," she observed, sounding concerned. "Multiple improperly applied memory charms. You have difficulties remembering things, do you not?" she asked and nodded at his quiet agreement. "Understandable. There is nothing I can do about the memory charms, however, I can prescribe the same concentration potions to you that Mr Potter will be taking. They should aid with your memory recall while I arrange for something else. On the other hand, it seems as though you are exceptionally magically sensitive. This will cause you difficulties with spell-casting. It may take you some time to get certain spells correct, don't worry, this is perfectly natural. It just means you're more attuned to things that need a lighter touch, such as Herbology or Potions."

Neville breathed a sigh of relief at that, he wasn't useless or a waste of space, or a squib even. He was just better at subtle magics that didn't really seem like magic until you took a step back and looked at the bigger picture.

Poppy smiled, "Your mother, Alice, was much the same way," she pointed out, making Neville whip around to face her in shock. "Come now, up and off the bed. You're done here. Now, I want both of you to come back here next week on Monday so I can give you your potions. Mr Potter, I will expect you after classes the same day for the first of your bone treatments, understood?" the nurse demanded.

"Yes, Madam," Neville intoned shyly while Harry saluted the woman with a laugh and a grinning "Yes, ma'am!".

_**000**_

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to the girl with the curly hair, and the fat kid. He's got a cat on his shoulder."

"With the headscarf?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar – where is it?"

Whispers followed Harry almost constantly. People queuing outside classrooms stood on their tiptoes to get a look at him, or doubled back in corridors just to get a glimpse, gawking at his clear forehead. As if he was going to walk around with his scar on full display for them to gape at. He was hardly a museum piece or an exhibition in the zoo. Carla was getting more and more fed up with it all as well.

The lessons were very interesting, but not what Harry had been expecting. There was very little in the way of practical work and the theory stuff just made his head spin, it was absolutely nothing like Fairy Tail. And he wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

Carla really hit it off with Professor McGonagall, especially after their... somewhat rocky start. The Professor had attempted to scold Harry for bringing his pet to class only to end up having Carla stand up and call her rude, she wasn't a pet, she was his partner and where ever Harry went she would follow. Harry lost ten points for Gryffindor, but after that, there were no problems with Carla coming to any of the lessons, she often asked some very well thought out and articulated questions.

Neville ended up being taken under the wing of the Hufflepuff head of house Professor Sprout when he demonstrated his skills in Herbology – it seemed as though his talk with the school nurse had given him a bit of a confidence boost, and the teachers were very understanding of his difficulties after being told about them. Harry found himself being given more practical work than his classmates but all in all, he still found it as dull as dish-water. He still hated using his wand, it felt exceptionally weird and uncomfortable to have his magic being pulled and moulded out of his control, but he had to learn somehow, and he couldn't use his Dragon Slayer magic in the halls without destroying something. So he practised his Wand magic and used his Requip so he wouldn't have to carry around all of his books and such. His matchstick to needle transfiguration eventually evolved into a knitting needle, and then a chinese acupuncture needle and then a fire-poker, before even went a step further and ended up with a sword. They weren't great quality as he was just ballooning out the needle and changing the surface, but it was the best he could do right now. Often times the transfigurations were as delicate as spun sugar, sometimes as strong as glass or crystal. But he rarely got them solid or usable. Well, it was only the first week.

Defence was the lesson that Harry was looking forward to the most but... it was more than a bit of a let down. He left the classroom thoroughly disgusted and picked Carla up from the corridor outside – she had been unable to come inside due to the noxious smell that even made Harry light headed and queasy.

On Friday was their first potions lesson. Ron was telling anyone who would listen that Professor Snape was a bigot who would favour Slytherin House, which didn't bother Harry all that much. He was actually looking forward to the lesson. It would be the first chance he was able to speak to Draco since the feast – whenever he tried to go over during Lunch, or Dinner to talk to him, he would be waylayed by a Gryffindor and dragged back, or have a Slytherin tell him to shove off and go back to his own table. During breakfast, Draco would come in too late for them to talk, the best Harry could do was wave at him as they passed in the corridors.

Friday was also the day they received a letter from the school nurse saying that the potion deliveries came early, so they were welcome to come by her office in order to pick them up after classes.

_**000**_

**Yeah, I'm not covering Potions this week.**

**I'm sorry for the shorter chapter but I have been snowed under with Uni work. The first draft of my dissertation is due in tomorrow and I haven't yet started it because I wanted to get this finished. So here you go. It's cut off here so I can go and focus on other things.**


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